


Until You Fight

by Eboni_A



Series: Don't Save Me [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Family, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bromance, Caring Castiel (Supernatural), Caring Dean Winchester, Caring Sam Winchester, Depression, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Issues, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-10-10 09:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 47,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17422988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eboni_A/pseuds/Eboni_A
Summary: Gabriel is an official member of Team Free Will, received his ‘butt-kicking’ badge in the mail, but he still suffers from his time spent in Hell and grieves for his dead brothers. When Gabriel receives a distress signal from Heaven, it’s up to Team Free Will to help him keep it from falling apart. (Picks up immediately after Until You Fall.)





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I wish I'd created Supernatural, because it'd mean I'd have Jensen Ackles on speed dial ;). But, alas, nothing belongs to me but the writing itself.

 _Warning: I changed some angel canon details_ _😊_   _._

 

* * *

 

Chapter 1

Castiel

  
            “It’s like he fell off the face of the planet,” Sam says, running his hands through his hair. “That lady who said she saw angels? Just a bad trip after a long party. This is…” He looks at me, his eyes bleak. “Hopeless. We can’t track an angel who doesn’t want to be found, can we? Gabriel sensed the tracking spell Rowena put on him, and probably could have ducked it, if he’d been at even half power.”

            I sigh, watching Sam pace. He needs to talk it out. It’s been the same routine for three weeks. We figured that Michael would leave a blazing trail everywhere he went, but he seems to have gone to ground. There are no supernatural sightings or reports, and all of our leads are cold. We’ve called in favors, have eyes in every place we can get them, but so far, nothing.

            “It’s only been three weeks, Sam,” Mary says.

            She and I sit at the map table in the library, watching Sam warily.

            “Three weeks not knowing what’s happening to my brother is too long,” Sam mutters. “Did Rowena call while I was…”

            “She hasn’t found anything, but she’s going to keep looking,” I say. “Sam, have you eaten at all? Bobby made soup. It’s in the fridge. You should eat while the majority of the teams are out. When they come back, they usually clean out the kitchen.”

            The teams—Bobby, Sam and Mary are training the refugees to be full-fledged hunters, not just giving tips for survival, and sending them out on missions to keep them busy and in shape. There’s been no talk of sending them back home, all of it ceased and desisted when Dean went missing. Bobby’s been working with Jack too, training him to use his body, his hands and feet, instead of his powers, which have dwindled to almost nothing after healing his self-inflicted wounds in the church.

            “I’ll—I’ll have something later,” Sam says, waving a hand. “But if there’s coffee…”

            “No more coffee for you, young man,” Mary says firmly. “You drink too much of it. You never sleep.”

            “I’ll sleep when Dean’s back.” Sam rubs his face and leans on the table for a second, before asking, “How’s Gabriel?”

            “Better,” I say, brightening a bit. The archangel’s been walking around on his own, taking quick showers, eating small, but regular meals, and taking fewer naps. “He’s still running a low-grade fever and far from one hundred percent power-wise, but he seems in better spirits. He’s even been talking a bit to Mia.”

  
            “That’s great news,” Sam says, and some of the weight putting a permanent slump in his shoulders lifts. “And Jack?”

            “Working out with Bobby,” I say. “He’s quite the student.”

  
            Sam nods. “They’re in the gym?” He moves on, heading in that direction and I get up to follow, hearing Mary behind me. I slow my steps so that I walk beside her, catching side glimpses of her face as her eyes train on Sam, her youngest child. Her gaze is hungry and sad, like she wants to do so much more for him, but can’t. Mary’s still finding her place with Sam—and Dean, but she keeps getting interrupted by possible apocalypses.

            We pass a few refugees, sweaty from workout sessions before entering the training hall or gym, as Sam calls it. A few people are stretching and doing push-ups, but the main attraction is the center of the floor where Bobby spars with Jack. Jack’s got both hands up in fists, guarding his face, as Bobby checks for openings. Their feet shuffle carefully.

            I blink at seeing Gabriel sitting cross-legged in a black, foldout saucer chair, sucking on a frozen Snickers bar, leftover from one of Dean’s trips to the store, eyes on Bobby and Jack. Sam crosses over to him and Mary and I follow.

            “Hey,” Sam greets him. “You look better. How are you feeling?”

            Gabriel leans back in the chair, peering up at all of us. He does look better, not so haggard, and his long hair is clean for a change. “Who’s this guy?”

            “Ha,” Sam says. He reaches down to touch Gabriel’s forehead and frowns. “Shouldn’t you be lying down?”

            “Mom said I could watch TV, if I made my bed,” Gabriel chirps, winking at Mary. “I’m fine, Lurch.” He goes back to his candy bar. He’ll probably eat about a fourth of it, before he loses interest. “I get bored in my room.”

            “He’s fine, Sam,” Mary says. “See, all bundled up.” Mary tugs at the thick sweatshirt Gabriel wears. It’s our compromise; Gabriel can wander the bunker so long as he’s dressed warmly and attempts to eat at least one full meal. He’d finished a bowl of oatmeal this morning, loaded with brown sugar and gummy bears, but it had been food—food enough.

            A squealing thud interrupts us and brings out attention back to Jack and Bobby. Jack’s sprawled on his hindquarters, staring up at Bobby, his expression shocked and hurt. “I’ll never be any good at this!”

            “You’re just learning, boy,” Bobby says, holding a hand down to him. “You can’t expect to be a boxing champion in a couple of weeks. You gotta build up some muscle and stamina.”

            “But it’s taking too long! How am I going to be able to help you guys get Dean back? Or fight monsters?” Jack doesn’t take Bobby’s hand. “I feel…”

            “Like me?” Gabriel chimes, and I frown at him.

            “Don’t tease him, Gabriel,” I say.

            “I’m not.” Gabriel gets to his feet, moving to stand behind Jack. “Get up.”

            Jack purses his lips, but after a beat, does what Gabriel says. He turns around, facing the archangel. “Your grace might be low, but it’s not gone. You feel it inside you, right?” Gabriel asks.

            Jack nods. “It’s like a little hum, but I can’t do anything with it. It’s too weak.”

            “Au contraire,” Gabriel says. “You can’t sling anybody across the room, but you can do some far less flashy things, if you’re willing to listen and try.”

            “What are you going to show him?” I ask, curious. Maybe I can learn something too.

            “Just a little trick,” Gabriel says. “Okay, nephew. Concentrate on your grace for a second, get used to how it feels to you.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Close your eyes and try to make it something you can see inside you. Give it a shape, a color, a form.”

            Jack closes his eyes and clenches his fists to his sides. His lips press together in concentration. I glance at Gabriel, as he touches Jack’s shoulder. Jack straightens as if a current is running through him.

            “I see it. I see it! What do I do now?”

            “You want to reach in and pick at it, like thread or yarn and pull it toward you. Loop it around yours hands and arms, your torso and legs and feet. Make yourself a mummy. Doesn’t matter if the thread goes thin, just pull it.”

            Sam, Mary and Bobby are looking at me as if I know what’s going on. I offer a shrug, wanting to see the outcome of Gabriel’s exercise.

            “Are you doing it?” Gabriel asks, both hands on Jack’s shoulders now.

            Jack nods. “It’s easy. I’m a mummy!”

            Gabriel chuckles. “How does it feel? Does it warm you?”

            “Um… should it?”

            “Only if you want it too,” Gabriel says.

            “It tingles some,” Jack says.

            “Hm.” Gabriel releases Jack’s shoulders. “Okay, uh…” He looks over at the punching bag in a corner of the room. “Let’s try that thing. Come on.”

            Jack and Gabriel walk away from us like we’re not in the room.

            “I feel like an eavesdropper now,” Sam says. “They’re really ignoring us.”

            Bobby grunts. “Well, I was just about done with the kid anyway. He’s a good study, just impatient, but that’s a teenager for you.” He claps Sam on the shoulder. “How are you, boy? You just get back in?”

            Sam nods. “Yeah. Didn’t find anything useful and no other leads have called in.”

            “That angel’s laying low,” Bobby says, “but when he turns up, we’ll know.”

            Sam sighs. “I hate that we might have to just sit and wait for him to make a move.”

            “Wow!”

            I whirl around at Jack’s shout. He’s staring at his fist. Gabriel grins at him and nods and Jack punches the bag, one fist, then the other, and the bag jerks like its being pounded by a pro-wrestler.

            “What the Hell…” Bobby utters, going over. I do too, stopping beside Gabriel who watches with his arms folded over his chest.

            “That’s good, kid,” Gabriel says. “You have to be careful not to burn out though. Once the thread starts wearing thin around your knuckles, it’s time to finish things. You have to time it and use it sparingly, as your grace rebuilds, or you’ll get yourself in trouble.”

            Jack laughs. “Yeah, but… I’m strong! Sam, Castiel, Mary, Bobby, I’m like super strong. Look at my kick!” He kicks the bag and the metal chain holding it suspended from the ceiling groans. He grimaces and grabs the bag, stopping it from swinging. “Isn’t that cool?”

            “How’s he doing that?” Sam asks Gabriel.

            “He’s just fueling his limbs with a little grace,” Gabriel says. “Even a little bit can give a strength boost. He can use it as a last resort in a pinch. Tomorrow, I can show you how you can use little bits of grace to imbue objects, if you want, Jack.”

            “Imbue objects?”

            “Yeah, you can add a little holy fire to weapons, so that they burn your opponent,” Gabriel says. “Tricks and fixes are kind of my specialty. When you’re playing the role of a trickster, you can’t exactly be open about the true nature of your powers. I had to do a lot of camouflaging.”

            “And you’ll teach me? Everyday?” Jack sounds so eager that I hope Gabriel says ‘yes’ to him.

            “I’ll try,” Gabriel says. He’s starting to look tired. “But let’s call it quits for today. Helping you focus was harder than I wanted it to be.” He rolls his shoulders and looks longingly back at his saucer chair. He pulls his candy bar from the front pocket of his sweatshirt and nibbles at the top.

            “Do you need help back to your room?” I ask him.

            Gabriel shakes his head, gazing at Sam. “No. I just need to sit down, but I really want to hear about what you’ve been doing Sam. And talk to the rest of you about your plans for retrieving Dean. I know you all talk around me, but I want to help. If I know what’s going on, maybe there’s something you missed that I might catch. Or something I can add. I’m ready to get back in the game.”

            “You’re still sick,” Sam says.

            “But not at death’s door,” Gabriel says. “I’m alert, I’m training angel babies, I can be a consultant too. Come on, coach. Take me off the injured list already. Team Save the World needs its MVP.”

            “And who’s that?”

            Gabriel puffs out his chest and holds his Snickers bar out like a small sword, then he smirks and takes a bite. “Dean Winchester. So, let’s get him back, huh?”

 

* * *

           

~*~

           

            With Sam opposed, we work Gabriel into some of the minor hunting trips Jack and I go on. Jack is antsy and ready for action and Gabriel has really stepped into the role of being his angelic teacher and guide. I stand back, watching, and feeling a little sad that Jack looks up to yet another person. I’d gotten used to only sharing him with Sam and Dean, but Gabriel is his uncle, and there are things they have in common that only Gabriel can teach him about.

            Gabriel was disappointed with our missions at first. He’d wanted to join Sam, Bobby and Mary on the hunt for Dean, but we all agreed that Michael would sense our angelic presences from miles away and be alerted. Gabriel’s lightened up since.

            We sit in a mom and pop diner that serves ice cream sodas in tall glasses with whip cream and cherries. Jack eats two double cheeseburgers in a way that would made Dean proud. His appetite has increased since his grace was taken. I know Sam would prefer that Jack eat salad, but after a job well done, I can’t deny him what he craves. Especially not with his uncle Gabriel in the backseat whining about wanting to stop at a place where he can get a hot fudge milkshake.    

            “Here, you gotta try this,” Gabriel says, reaching across the table to take one of Jack’s thick cut fries. He dunks it in his large, hot fudge milkshake and swirls it around, then pops it in his mouth. “This is the _only_ way to eat fries.”

            I gape at him in disgust. “That’s—”

            “Really?” Jack’s eyes are wide. He takes up a fry and reaches over to dip it in Gabriel’s milkshake. He nibbles at it and makes face. “That’s gross!”

            “What?” Gabriel’s incredulous. “No way you’re related to me!”

            “Cass thinks it’s gross too!” Jack says.

            “He has no taste buds,” Gabriel snorts, writing me off and going back to drinking his milkshake. He made a big show of eating the whip cream, sprinkles and cherry off the top, but I don’t know if he’ll actually finish all of the dessert. I should make him order food. It’s been more than four hours and he used his powers today to help us take down three werewolves. But he doesn’t seem overly tired.

            “I don’t see how you can eat all that stuff all the time,” Jack says, wrinkling his nose at Gabriel’s milkshake. “You should try some of my burger.”

            It’s Gabriel’s turn to make a face. “Nope. Nuh-uh. Don’t do that kind of food.”

            “Wouldn’t it help you?” Jack asks. “It’s more substantial. Sam says vitamins and nutrients help the body. You might stop getting sick if you start eating kale and beets.”

            Gabriel mock gags. “I threw up in my mouth just now. Beets?”

            Jack laughs and finishes his second burger. When he’s done, he grins openly at Gabriel. “Thanks for coming with us, Uncle Gabriel, and helping me, and staying in the bunker. It’s—it’s really great.”

            My insides twist, and I fight down jealousy. I practically raised him, protected him when his mother carried him, taught him right from wrong, and here comes Gabriel, loud and ridiculous, stealing Jack’s adoration away from me. It is one thing to share him, another for Jack to-to like someone else better. It almost feels like Lucifer all over again, except Gabriel’s intentions are pure.

            Gabriel licks his lips. “Don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do for you all putting up with me. I should be saying thanks for letting me come, and letting me stay. I know that I…well, that I can be dead weight.”

            “Dead weight?” Jack exclaims. “You kicked werewolf as—”

            “Jack!” I scold him and Jack pouts like a small child.

            “Sorry, Castiel.”

            Gabriel chuckles despite Jack’s glum look and my glare. The waitress who’d taken care of us since we came in, makes her way to the table. She glances from me to Jack, brow raising at Jack’s unhappy face, then her eyes go to Gabriel. A glint of interest piques there.

            “Can I get you all anything else?” she asks—her name-tag reads _Amani_. She doesn’t quite fit into this Midwestern sea of pale faces—neither does Gabriel for that matter—and some of the locals give her unfriendly looks. She ignores them and takes orders; I doubt she gets many tips.

            “Maybe a sandwich,” I say, nudging Gabriel with my foot under the table.

            He swallows more milkshake. “I was actually wondering about your Oreo cake. It any good?”

            “Yes, actually,” Amani says, a genuine smile blossoming as she talks to Gabriel. “The owner’s wife has her own recipe for it. It’s probably the best cake we’ve got. You want a slice?”

            “Yeah,” Gabriel says. “I’ll take one.”

            “You’ve got quite the sweet tooth,” Amani says. “Where do you put it though?

            Gabriel shrugs. “I’m active.” He grins, looking up at her through his lashes. “You’ve tried all the cakes?”

            “I’ve worked here for two years. The menu never changes,” Amani says.

            “What’s the worst cake?” Gabriel quizzes.

            “The lemon. It’s dry,” Amani says. “But don’t tell my boss I told you that. It’s _his_ mother’s recipe. His wife hates making it.”

            Gabriel laughs with her as I frown at their continued conversation. I’m reminded of sitting in bars and diners with Dean, listening to him flirt. It’s weird, but he and Gabriel would probably have a lot of fun together in bar.

            Jack taps me, whispering in my ear. “The waitress really likes uncle. Do you think he’ll get his cake for free?”

            The innocence of the question makes me reach out and ruffle Jack’s hair.

            “I’ll be right back with your cake,” Amani says, smiling over her shoulder at Gabriel as she heads toward the kitchen area.

            Gabriel slurps his milkshake down to the halfway point before meeting my gaze. “What?”

            “Are you planning on…” I trail off, glancing at Jack who’s eager to know what we’re talking about.

            A wicked grin spreads across Gabriel’s face. “Planning on what, Castiel?”

            If I had angel-fire, I would blast him with it. “You know what I mean.”

            Gabriel shakes his head and frowns at Jack. “Do you know what he means?”

            “No,” Jack says, and looks at me. “What do you mean, Cass?”

            “You’re terrible,” I say to Gabriel.

            “A lot of people have told me that in more vulgar ways,” Gabriel says, twirling the straw around in his milkshake. “Gimme another fry, Nephew.”

            Jack dutifully pushes his plate of fries toward Gabriel and cringes as Gabriel dunks two more in his shake and eats them. “You sure made fast friends with that lady. Are you going to—to kiss her?”

            Gabriel smiles, then laughs, eating a plain fry before he answers, “No. Probably not.”

  
            “Oh. But why not? I think she likes you, and she’s very pretty,” Jack says. “Dean would kiss her if he was here and she was talking to him.”

  
            He would. He’d be urging Gabriel to make a move. I could be Dean in this instance, and encourage Gabriel. He’s been sick and depressed and tortured, and doing things that go against his nature, like fighting. It’s all right that he may want to have some ‘Dean’ moments on the road.

            Gabriel sighs and pushes the milkshake and fries away. “I’ll explain it to you one day, kiddo. But you really don’t have to kiss every girl who might like you. Number One, they don’t like it. Number Two, you could mess up something that had the potential to be special by moving too fast. Amani is a nice girl.”

            “What do you mean by special?” Jack asks.

            Gabriel’s smile is soft. “When you really like someone, you’ll know exactly what I mean by ‘special’.”

            “Do you really like her?” Jack questions.

            Gabriel smirks. “I don’t know her like that, Jack. But someone else will really like her in the future, and she’ll be special to them.”

            Amani returns with the cake before Jack can ask another question. She sets it on the table in front of Gabriel. She smiles at him as she starts to back away and he brushes his fingers over her arm. She stops, smile faltering as he gazes up at her in earnest. “Amani Bakshi, daughter of Bala and Kasi, you have a beautiful life ahead of you. Keep praying. You’ll be accepted into a graduate program, and you’ll receive your masters and doctorate in Biochemistry and your research and discoveries will be ground-breaking. You’ll find a wonderful man and have beautiful children who will grow up to make you very proud.”

            Amani gasps, but doesn’t pull away, staring at Gabriel, eyes growing wet.

            “But to do all of that, first, you have to leave the jerk you’re living with now. Quit this job, have them mail your last paycheck, and pack up and leave tomorrow. Go back to your parents; they’ll accept your apology. They only want the best for you. The state school near your parents’ home is waiting for your graduate school application. You only need to take the GRE. You’re ready. Stop stalling.”

            Gabriel removes his hand, but doesn’t break eye contact as tears roll down Amani’s face. She bows her head and Gabriel whispers something to her in another language, Telugu. She nods and walks away.

            Gabriel starts in on his cake, ignoring Jack and me as we stare at him.

            “What was that?” Jack asks.

            “That,” Gabriel says, mouth full of cake, “was a read.”

            “An impressive one,” I say. “You looked into her far future.”

            Gabriel shrugs. “I sensed that she’s at a crossroad. She has many possible futures, but the clear path to the one she most desires will disappear after today.” He winks at Jack. “Divine guidance used to be one of my things back in the day. Raphael’s too.”

            “Can you do things like that, Castiel?” Jack asks.

            “Uh…” And once again, I will pale in comparison to the archangel Gabriel. “No, I can read their pasts and try to counsel them if I want.”

            “Oh,” Jack says. He blinks and bites his lip. “When my grace comes back, do you think I’ll be able to do things like see the future? I mean, do you think she believed you and will pick the right path? She didn’t run screaming or look at you like you’re crazy.”

            Gabriel licks his fork. “Of course she believed me. Open hearts are able to receive the truth from angels. She may not remember me or that I was the one who told her so, but her heart knows what she should do. I planted a seed.”

            “Whoa…”

            Gabriel’s thoughtful expression turns dark. “You have to be careful, though. Humans are impressionable and easy to lead astray, when they’re open to you.” He sighs. “It’s how Lucifer ruined so many. I spoke a blood-curse over my lines. If Lucifer or any evil ever approaches any of them and tries to sway their hearts from their proper path, they’ll burn.”

            “Your line?” Jack asks.

            “My bloodline families, the people created by God to be my chosen vessels,” Gabriel says. “All archangels have bloodline families. Michael and Lucifer shared the line now known as Winchester. Their bloodlines truly dwindled over the centuries.”

            “And yours?” Jack asks.

            Gabriel hums, plowing the cake with his fork. “They’ve done well for themselves. There are the three main families, one in Jordan, another in Israel, and one that made it across the pond to Canada. Then, there are branch families in Jerusalem, Syria, and Morocco. I try to keep up with them, check in every few decades to make sure they’re well.”

            “You check on them?” I ask. I don’t believe that Michael or Raphael did the same. “Why would you do that? To ensure that you had viable vessels if you needed a new one?” I’m confused. He acted like he wouldn’t have any other human options if his current vessel burned out.

            “Why?” Gabriel looks hurt. “Because they’re mine to watch over. Dad made them for me, meaning I’m responsible for what they become.”

            “ _You_ took responsibility for generations of people?”

            “It isn’t hard,” Gabriel says, sounding defensive. “I just make sure luck is always on their side. I nudge them in the path of fortune and urge them to be good, devout. I shelter them from hardship, then I let them be. I drop in and help things along if needed, but I usually don’t have to do a thing. There have been a few kids I worried about over the years, but they shaped up fine.”

            “Do they know that an angel watches over them?” I ask.

            Gabriel shrugs. “The older ones make mention of it, but they don’t mean it as literally as past generations did. They just know they’re blessed.” He sets down his fork. “My wellness check-in is a few years overdue, but I can’t exactly zap myself across countries and oceans now, can I?” He studies his cake and waves Amani back over. She’s at the cash register, but comes when she catches his eye.

            “Are you enjoying the cake?” She’s back to flirting with no wariness or questions about what Gabriel had said to her earlier.

            “It’s delicious, but I think I need a to-go box,” Gabriel says.

            “Oh yeah, totally,” Amani says. “I’d have worried about you eating all of this junk in one sitting. I don’t want to be responsible for a guy like you getting diabetes.”

            “A guy like me, huh?” Gabriel dimples and Amani blushes.

            “Should I bring the check too?”

            “Yeah.” Gabriel says. “Just one. This guy right here’s paying!” Gabriel gestures to me with his thumb and I narrow my eyes.

            Amani laughs. “Big spender. But that’s very nice of you to pay for your friends.” She glances at Jack. “Or is this your son?”

            I start. A few people we met on the road had asked this question, but never in front of Jack. I open my mouth, but Jack beats me to it. “Yeah, this is one of my dads.”

            “One of your…” Her eyes go to Gabriel who immediately looks alarmed and raises both hands in the air.

            “I’m the uncle. That guy’s my brother, though.” Gabriel nods at me with a little smile that reaches his eyes. Warmth creeps into my chest. We’ve called each other brother before, but just now, it really feels like he means it.

            “Oh.” Amani squints at us. “Ah…”

            “Same dad,” Gabriel says simply.

            “Oh.” Amani seems to understand. “You take after different parents. Nice. Well, you’re one lucky kid. You’ve got a great uncle, and your dad here seems pretty sweet. I’ll be right back with your check, guys.”

            Amani disappears through double doors that lead to the kitchen.

            “Do you have cash to leave her a big tip?” Gabriel asks absently as he picks Oreos out of his dark chocolate cake. “She’s going to need some more moving money.”

            I blink. I carry plenty of cards, but my cash is all big bills, $50s and $100s, and he knows it. “You mean for me to leave her…”

            “Two hundred dollars is good,” Gabriel says, gaze faraway. “That’ll get her where she’s going. She’ll have to leave some things behind, but she won’t need them.”  
            Amani returns with the check and a to-go box and bag with plasticware and a chocolate chip brownie inside. She whispers something in Gabriel’s ear as I leave enough cash to pay the bill, a twenty percent tip, and then an extra $200.00. Cash isn’t something we give out freely, but…

            I can’t take the chance of the light shining in Gabriel’s eyes and lessening his mental load fading because I’m cheap. We leave the restaurant, Jack in front, me in the middle, Gabriel trailing with his plastic take-out bag. I catch him looking over his shoulder and see his grin as Amani discovers her generous ‘tip’. He hurries me through the door before Amani can call after us or try to give the money back.

            In the classic car taken from the bunker garage, Gabriel opens his take-out bag, appetite returned. Jack sits in back with him, observing, as I drive.

            “Gabriel, what made you decide to help Amani out in particular. There were so many people in the diner, and we met other nice people on our trip. You didn’t read them.”

            Gabriel sucks chocolate off his thumb. “Amani reminds me of the people in my line; a good heart, a good child.” He shrugs. “And when we first sat down, she accidentally touched me when she set down my menu. I sensed her clean soul, and I couldn’t resist.”

            Something bothers me about the way Gabriel talks about humans now. “When you were Loki, you didn’t seem to care so much about people. You killed some, and you were ready to let Michael and Lucifer fight and kill off half the population. You weren’t always so generously natured.”

            I catch Gabriel’s glare in the rear-view mirror. “I killed dick-bags that beat their wives and children. Douche-canoes that raped women, and low-lives that cheated, stole and got off on making other people miserable. Don’t forget, Castiel, I’m Old Testament. An eye for an eye. And as for Michael and Lucifer killing half the population, well…” He sighs, anger fading from his demeanor. He seems sad, and his eyes have lost that spark that dealing with Amani had given him. I feel like—as Dean and Sam would say—an asshole.

            “I’d have kept my humans safe,” Gabriel says. “I know where they all are, and I had plans to help them ride out an apocalypse.”

            “But only plans for them, no one else?” Jack frowns.

            “Hey, I wasn’t Team Save the World then,” Gabriel says. “Look, Nephew, you’re half human so maybe you feel things like a human. If so, this is gonna be hard to explain, but us angels, we’re not hardwired to care about people we don’t know. That’s learned behavior, and it’s hard to learn, easier to fake. Now that I know you and your makeshift family, and you all took me in, I changed my apocalypse plan to include more people. My world’s expanding, probably the way my dad hoped it might have back then. But what can I say, I’m a late bloomer.”

            I watch him finishing off his cake in the mirror before putting my attention back on the road.

            “Uncle Gabe?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Tell me more about your dad. I want to learn about God.”

            I almost drive off the road. Lucifer had told Jack about his own version of God. What will Gabriel say? I’m interested to hear it. The archangels had such a different experience with God—and each other. Lucifer saw God as domineering and unapologetic. To him, he was a totalitarian who viewed Lucifer as a tool in the end. Gabriel saw God as an indulgent father who was reluctant to punish and quick to forgive. To me, God was a distant figure, always too busy for the likes us—my close brethren. Then, I’d known God as Chuck.

            Can I piece together my own truth about God from just listening to different accounts?

            I think I need to.

            Gabriel sighs, then says, “Yeah, kid, sure. My shrink says talking is good medicine. Where do you want me to start?”

            “The beginning?”

            “Creation?”

            I turn the radio down, wanting to make out every word Gabriel tells Jack about our Father, but then my phone rings. I’m tempted to let it go to voicemail, but caller ID says it’s Sam.

            I answer. “Sam? Is everything all right?”

            Gabriel and Jack go silent.

            “Hey, Cass,” Sam’s voice is tired, strained.

            “What’s wrong? Did you not find him? Is he—?”

            “W-we found him, Cass. We found Dean. He’s here with us now. Michael’s gone.”

            A smile stretches across my face as joy erupts inside me. I breathe a sigh of relief and happiness. “Jack, Gabriel, Dean is back.” But Sam doesn’t sound as excited as I do. My smile falters. “How did you get rid of Michael?”

            Sam coughs. “Um, we didn’t. Dean said he left.”

            “Michael left? Why would he do that? Where did he go?”

            “What?” Gabriel pops his head between the driver and passenger seats.

            “We don’t know,” Sam says. “Dean’s not talking about it much. He’s… he’s not talking much at all. He kind of fades in and out of being aware of us. I think—I think being Michael’s vessel hurt him.”

            I glance at Gabriel. “Can you hear what he’s saying?”

            Gabriel nods, brow furrowing.

            “Michael wasn’t in Dean for very long, and Dean is his perfect vessel. He shouldn’t be hurt from Michael’s presence, right?” Sam asks. “We saw Raphael’s vessel, but he’d been burning in and out of that guy for years. Wouldn’t it take time for Dean to become—well, like that?”

            I put the phone on speaker and lay it on my thigh, so that Gabriel can reply to Sam.

            “Depends on how Michael left,” Gabriel says, “and if he’s intending to come back. Even with true vessels, we have to take caution when entering and leaving. There’s always some burnout, but we can restore it.”

            “So, Michael may have burned Dean and didn’t fix it?”

            “But Dean’s his vessel,” Jack says. “He shouldn’t want to damage him, right?”

            “What would he care either way,” Gabriel says sadly. “If he doesn’t intend to return to Dean, then this Michael has no sympathy for humans, why heal Dean? If he intends to come back, angels can reside in damaged vessels. If anything, the more trauma Michael causes Dean, the less likely Dean will be to fight him during the next possession.”

            “But Dean would have to invite Michael in again, right?” Sam demands.

            Gabriel bows his head, dark curls hiding his face, “A lack of answer from a vessel who’s already let you in once is ‘yes’ enough. If Dean’s out of it, then Michael can easily slide back in… unless we ward him, so Michael can’t find Dean. His ribs are marked, but Michael entering him would have vaporized the runes Castiel carved.”

            “I’ll re-do the carvings,” I say. Mind racing. Dean’s back, Dean’s hurt, damaged, and still in danger. “Are you on your way back to the bunker? How long will it take you to arrive?”

            “We’ll hit the road in an hour or so, but we’re almost a two day’s drive away. Where are you?”

            “Only hours from the bunker.” It’s times like these that I need my wings. I could go to Dean and Sam if they told me where they are. But Gabriel has wings, he can mark Dean, if… “Gabriel?”

            Gabriel lifts his head, face void of expression. “You want me to fly?”

            “Do you think you can make it?” I ask. And even if he can, “will you have the energy to make the marks?”

            Gabriel shrugs. “I guess I can find out if I get there or not.”

            “You can’t chance that you won’t make it all the way to Sam and Dean!” Jack exclaims. “What if you don’t and end up stranded somewhere? Then, what if you pass out and we can’t find you and it takes us a long time to get to you even if we do?”

            “Jack’s right,” Sam says. “We can’t chance that.”

            “But if Michael comes to take Dean back, you’re screwed. You don’t know why he left or how long he’s been gone,” Gabriel says. “Or do you know how long he’s been gone?”

            “Dean won’t tell us,” Sam says. “So, we don’t know. Look, we’re going to drive as fast as we can. You guys just be ready for us when we come in, okay?”

            “He’ll know where to find Dean in the bunker,” Gabriel says. “If he’s tracking you, he’ll sense Dean’s direction and know exactly where you went when Dean suddenly goes off the grid with new marks. It’d be better for him to go off grid far away from the bunker. I mean, Michael will still look for Dean in the bunker when he can’t find him, but at least he won’t stone cold know that it’s where he went right off. You should get out of that town and then let us come to you.”

            That’s reasonable. “I think Gabriel is right. Sam. Where are you now?”

            “You guys can’t drive all the way out here. You—you…”

            “Don’t have a good enough reason for us not to. We’ll meet you in the middle,” Gabriel says simply. “Pick a place halfway between us and you, and give us the coordinates, Sasquatch, or I’ll locate one of your un-marked companions, and see if I can make the flight now. Your call.”

            I almost snort at Gabriel’s ultimatum, but I’m also afraid that he may actually try it if Sam says no. Jack is right to be afraid of how badly Gabriel traveling alone could go. I hold my breath as Sam makes a decision.

            “Fine.” Sam sounds completely done in. He looks up a roadside motel in a town that’ll take us 13 hours to reach and gives out an address. “We’ll do our best to ward the place, until you get here.”

            We hang up and I don’t bother to turn the radio on to fill the silence in the vehicle.

            I set the GPS on my phone to the address we need, and get off the highway to make a U-turn and merge onto another road that’ll bring us closer to Dean and Sam.

            “I can drive all night,” I say. “But let me know when either of you needs to stop. We’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”

            We’re going to Dean.

            Dean’s back.

            No matter how bad it is, I’m just glad that Dean’s with Sam.

           “What if Michael takes him back before we get there, Castiel?” Jack asks.

           His question dies, no one answers, and we go back to driving to the sound of silence.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Gabriel

 

            The motel Sammy picked is gross.

            It’s just the kind of fixer-upper Loki would have flipped into a five-star hotel. Roaches, crunchy bed sheets, and guess-that-stain on the carpet called to him across stateliness and oceans. Many a dump became a Taj Mahal. This place, however, will stay a few miles south of condemned for a couple more months, or until a dead body’s found stuffed in one of the lumpy mattresses. Though, finding the body might take a while—since I don’t think anything about the beds have been changed or refreshed since 1973. Sam let us in after Cass gave a few funny knocks on the door. We’d trudged into the room, bringing the cold from outside in with us. The room is toasty—at least the heater works.

          Sam’s hobo beard is thicker than when I’d seen it last and the dark circles under his eyes rival mine. Around the room, Bobby sits on a saggy couch looking at a static-filled TV screen while Mary sits in a ragged armchair near a lumpy bed with a body curled under a blanket—a blanket from the bunker. I recognize it. Good. The blankets here need to be disinfected.

          Castiel rushes to the bed, pulling the covers down and touching the side of Dean’s face.

          Sam pats Jack on the shoulder, while grunting a greeting at me. “We ordered a pizza—and cinnamon sticks.”

          “Great,” I say. “I can go for something hot right now.” Road food involves a lot of packaged foods for me—Zingers, Ding Dongs, Twix and Milky Ways. I follow Castiel’s trail to the bed, wanting to get a look at Dean. He could be in shock if Michael left abruptly, and, if that’s the case, he’ll snap out of it after a day or so.

          But, for that to be the case, luck would have to be on our side. It almost never is. I stop beside Castiel and kneel to be on eye level with Dean. His hazel eyes are open and vacant, his facial features slack. How long has he been like this?” I ask. “Does he eat? Drink?”

          “No,” Mary says, keeping her voice low as if not wanting to disturb Dean. “He hasn’t eaten or drunk a thing since he stumbled in on us yesterday. He hasn’t uttered a word all day either.”

          “Nightmares?” I ask.

          “If he has them, we haven’t noticed,” Sam says, approaching the bed on the other side. “What’s wrong with him?”

          Castiel frowns, placing a hand on Dean’s ribcage. After a beat, Dean flinches, but says nothing. “He’s warded again.”

          “That’s nice, but what’s wrong with him?” Sam pushes. He looks to me. “You’ve seen this before, right? Can we fix it?”

          I crack my knuckles, then touch one palm to Dean’s middle-eye. Here goes nothing. I close my eyes, letting a little of my essence pass through Dean so that I can see inside—ugh. I pull back. The energy I touched felt cold, bitter—the other world Michael’s taint.

          I rub my hands together, trying to forget the rough texture I’d encountered.

          “What is it?” Castiel asks.

          “He’s… his soul needs a cleanse, and…” I steel my resolve and touch Dean again, extending more of myself into his inner workings. His life energy pulses in broken chords. I see the injured parts, raw burn wounds that bleed internally. “Michael wasn’t a good caretaker. He scorched him.”

          “Scorched him?” Sam asks, staring at Dean. Mary gets up to, coming to the bed.

          “What do you mean by that?” she asks.

          “I told you that archangels burn all vessels. Our true vessels are made to hold us, but we’re still too strong for all of our essence to be contained and not do some harm. We heal the vessel while we’re in it and provide healing afterward—at least, I do. Raphael did. This Michael left holes.”

          “What can we do about it? Can you fix it, like we’ve been asking?” Sam puts it out there and I can’t ignore it. This question is all mine. Time for me to bring something extra to Team Save the World.

          “I can try a healing,” I say.

          “So can I,” Castiel says. He frowns at me. “If a healing is all he needs, then I’m better suited—”

          “You aren’t,” I cut him off. “These are archangel burns. Only an archangel can heal them. Preferably the one to heal you should be the one who hurt you, but I think I can help.” I hope I can. The other Michael is not my brother—might actually be stronger than my brother was—and I don’t know if I can undo his damage.

          Mary and Sam look at me with such hopeful eyes, I have to shut mine and push back from the bed. “I’m going to need some ice cream—a gallon container—to go with those cinnamon sticks.”

 

          Two hours, an entire box of warm cinnamon sticks, a small container of vanilla frosting, a gallon of Rocky Road, and a liter of Mountain Dew later, I’m ready to try a healing, and then, perhaps, puke. Temporary energy flames and crackles through me, ready to be used. Sam and Castiel placed Dean in a hideously upholstered armchair with an overstuffed cushion sprouting fuzz. I hope all the humans are up to date on their shots. Ugh—do I need shots now? I _have_ caught several human viruses.

          “All right. Let’s try this.” I perch on an end table in front of Dean, not wanting to sit on anything in this place that can’t be wiped down with soap and water, then dried. I place my hands on his, and close my eyes, sending my energy in to quest for and cleanse soul injuries. Turbulent waves try to push me out. Dean’s body treats my power like a virus, something foreign trying to invade it. I’ve got to dig in deeper.

          I check my reserves, unnerved at how limited my tank is. If I drain it, it’s empty for a day before I see anymore power. Before, I could pull from an unlimited tank and create pocket dimensions and turn fantasies into reality. One snap of my fingers and my will was done. Now, a Twinkie and a cupcake gives me a blast of angel fire and a flash of lightning. Pathetic.

          I remove my hands from Dean’s face to rub my own for a second, questioning everything. I might not be strong enough to help at all, but if I can’t, no one can. A hand touches my shoulder.

          “Perhaps, you should let me try after all,” Castiel says. “If it turns out to be something I can do, then you’ll get to save your energy. And if not, you can try again.”

          He just won’t let go of this. Fine. I slide off the table, pushing it back so Castiel has room to stand between me and Dean. He touches two fingers to Dean’s forehead, a soft white light flows from his fingertips, but the moment it touches Dean’s skin, Castiel yelps and the lights flicker. His body crashes back into mine and I barely catch him before we topple backward. Castiel is one heavy son of a bitch and I wasn’t ready for that tumble.

          I push him off, getting to my feet, smoothing back my hair, trying to save face. Mary, Bobby, Jack and Sam stare at us.

          “What the Hell was that?” Bobby asks.

          Castiel shakes his head, bewildered and dazed. “It—There’s a blockage in there. It reacted badly to my healing power. It felt like…” He hisses slightly, rubbing his sore butt and then looking at me. “…lightning.”

          “That’s residual archangel juice hovering around in there,” I say. “You have to push through it.”

          “I can’t,” Castiel says. “If I pushed, the reaction would be even worse. The room could go up in flames.”

          “Probably,” I agree. “Do you believe now that I’m the only one who can possibly do this?” Castiel doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t get in my way again either. Why am I being such an ass about this? Castiel just wants to help his friend—and, might also be worried about my well-being. 

          I push my table back to where it was, but turn to Castiel before I sit down and offer him a hand up. “I’m sorry, brother. I don’t mean to be a jerk. I just… If I can be helpful, let me try to be. I don’t get to do it often.”

  
         “Gabriel, you’re plenty helpful,” Mary says as I pull Castiel to his feet. “But you are recovering and nobody wants to see you hurt.”

          My face feels warm. Please don’t let me be flushing at the motherly concern in her voice.

          “She’s right,” Sam says. Castiel just nods at me.

          I make eye contact with the room of people watching me. “Ah… okay. I get it. Uh… thanks.” I put my back to them and focus on Dean. I hate sappy moments. They make me feel awkward and small and… indebted. I plop my rear end on the table and reach out to take Dean’s face between my hands again. I push my essence out and into him, free-wheeling through the golden lightning that is Michael’s residual energy, hearing it crackle as I tumble beyond it, into the core that is Dean.

          His soul’s glow is pale and dingy in spots where it’s been bruised. Some of the bruises are old and man-made. They come from childhood hurts and fears. The death of his mother, the loss of his childhood, an absent father, an abnormal life with no permanent roots ever set—Dean really is a simple soul who wants uncomplicated things, such as a stable home, a wife, a child, to feel safe and loved, and for his family to know that he loves them. The brightest patches of his soul reflect memories of being with his brother and father in nicer places that looked lived in, sharing a cooked meal on real plates. There are multiple memories of Dean and Sam as little boys building forts out of hotel pillows and odd furniture parts; memories of this world’s Bobby Singer teaching Dean how to skin rabbits and change motor oil. The gray places show the separation of family, the deaths of two father figures, Kevin the prophet, this world’s red-haired Charlie… then there are the black bits, the parts seared when Michael’s essence latched on without taking any safety precautions.

          Our souls burn hot, the places we meld ourselves to so that we can join the human vessel have to be warmed and shaped, prepped for the incoming heat. And when we leave, we must detach slowly, cooling the reddened areas and apply our healing. When we exit, we should take everything with us, nothing should be left behind. Michael left a mess and I’ve never been good at cleaning up after anyone, especially not myself.

          I visualize my own hands touching the burned portions of soul, I knead the injuries and send healing energy through them. The soul shudders and resists my touch at first, but then it bucks one last time, before softening under my hands and accepting my power. The blackness lightens to brown, then gray. I circulate my power, pushing it like a waterwheel stirring a current, throughout the entirety of Dean’s inner being. My power searches for new injuries that taste like fresh copper and ash, and seeks to soothe. My mind swims as my strength dwindles.

          The soul… the black areas made by Michael are slowly turning gray, dull in comparison to the bright white patches of happiness and the glimmering silver stretches of soul-fabric that make up Dean as a whole, but it’s the going to be the best I can do, I think. My vision dims as my head throbs.

          And there’s a sudden voice in my ear.

          “Yiii!” I jump, or my essence jumps. A miniature version of myself sits on top of Dean’s soul, like it’s a bearskin rug. I do a ninja roll away from the new presence, ending up on my knees in what I hope is a threatening position—but I know it’s not—and blink up at a bruised, dirty version of Dean Winchester. His clothes are muddy rags and his eyes have seen millions of years of blood and death.

  
          “Gabriel?” His voice sounds like a chain-smoker’s after a forty day, unfiltered menthol binge.

          “Dean.”

          “Did you—did you do this?” He gazes at his soul, a patchwork quilt of silver, white and gray with bits of pink—areas that are raw. I couldn’t heal them all the way.

          I nod at him. “This is the best I can do, though, kid.”

          His sad, weary eyes take me in and he shakes his head. “You’re apologizing?”

          “If I had more power, I could fix you completely,” I say with a shrug.

          “And if you weren’t here, I wouldn’t be fixed at all,” Dean says. “I can come out now.”

          I stare at him. “Were you…”

          “He kept me in there.” Dean takes a breath and then points off into the darker recesses of his mind. His body manifests itself as a house. The soul rug I sit on stretches across the floor of a living room. Lights are on in the kitchen, den and dining room, the doors wide open, but beyond those common rooms is darkness.

          “The doors were locked from the outside,” Dean whispers. “They—they opened when you did this, and got rid of…” He swallows, looking up at the ceiling I’d entered through. It’s vaulted with a skylight that reveals a cloudy night sky, like the one from the night Lucifer… There’s lightning, but it’s blue—my lightning. I’d tried to stand up to Lucifer, before he’d taken me out of the equation. Dean’s body hasn’t moved on from the night Michael had taken complete control.

            “The sky was full of gold lightning before,” Dean rasps. “It felt like him. Like he never left, but he did.”

            “I cleared it out, and when I leave, I’ll clear that out too,” I say. “Nothing should be left in here, but you.”

  
            Dean wraps his arms around his torso, shuddering. “And then I’ll wake up, for real.”

            “Yeah,” I say. “You’ve got a lot of people waiting on you on the other side.”

  
            Dean cracks a small smile. “H-how much candy did you have to eat to be able to pull this off?”

            I groan. “Ugh. Don’t remind me. I’ll probably never eat Rocky Road and cinnamon twists again.” My head pulses with pain and I flop back on Dean’s soul-rug, exhausted, achy and utterly spent. “I think I have to go now.”

  
            “You okay?” Dean shuffles closer to me, and I wonder about him and Sam and how they care so much about other people when they themselves could be falling apart. Dean is soul-bruised, his inner-self a battered mess, and here he is leaning over me like a worried mother.

            “I’ll be fine. More concerned about you,” I say. “I’m leaving, but you have to promise to follow me out. Listen for my voice, okay?”

            “Listen for… but you’re talking now.”

            “On the outside. See you there.”

            I shut my eyes, and will myself to float. Time to go. My body rises, my will materializing n the form of my wings. I fly through the ceiling, through the night sky, funneling my residual energy—the lightning—around me, using it to help me propel myself upward…and out.

            I rock backward on the table as my mind crashes back into my body. I release Dean’s head and slam my hands down to catch my balance with a gasp. Oh—the room spins. I barely make out Sam, Mary, Castiel, Jack and Bobby.

            “Whoa!” I don’t know who’s saying it. A bunch of people are talking, hands touch me. I think they want me to lie down, but I’m not done.

            “Dean,” I manage to choke out, forcing my eyes to focus on what’s in front of me. The slumped form of Dean Winchester twitches. The voices around me stop.

            “Dean, time to wake up,” I say.

            He twitches again, before his head lolls to one side, eyes slitting open.

            “There you are,” I breathe, smiling as the man sits up, frowning at me before his eyes widen in shock, and my world goes black.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Dean

 

            I wake up to a lap full of unconscious archangel.

            My arms don’t react fast enough to catch him as he face-plants, but luckily Sam and Castiel are there. They move superhero quick, grabbing Gabriel under the arms and pulling him up.

            “Don’t lie him on the floor, he’ll have a fit when he wakes up,” Castiel says in a flat voice. “Or the bed… that chair should be okay.”

  
            Castiel and Sam manhandle Gabriel over to an armchair near a TV. I squint around the room, trying to figure out where we are. This place is nasty. Old, peeling, smells like feet and ass, and the floor looks like somebody used it to line pig pins.

            “We’re a little low on cash.”

            I jump, lifting my head to peer into Mom’s big blue eyes.

            “Hello, Dean,” she says, kissing my forehead. “How are you feeling?”

            A million dollar question with a three dollar half-answer. “I don’t know.”

            Mom probes my forehead and looks deep into my eyes, checking for something. “He’s really gone?” she whispers.

            I nod. “Yeah.” I can answer that question with certainty, though I don’t know why he left me. Don’t think he was forced out; I think he just jumped ship—think he had something else to do so important that he’d give me up as a vessel. Because I sure as hell ain’t letting him in again. Not for anything.

            My whole body shudders and cramps and Mom grips my arm. “What’s wrong? Are you—?”

            “Gonna puke…” I try to get up and can’t. My feet are useless blocks of lead. I gag and trying to swallow it back as Mom rushes to get a trash can—something.

            “Bobby, help me find something for him to—”

            Too late. Stomach acid and orange bile splash onto my pants and shoes and the dirty floor. I can’t stop heaving as I think—see—what he did, while wearing me. My hands were used for torture, again. But this time, I wasn’t in the pilot seat. I couldn’t stop anything. He wouldn’t listen to my shouts. He laughed at my pleas.

            A hand rubs my back. “It’s okay, Dean.” Jack’s voice is high and strained—he’s scared. I don’t mean to scare the kid. Why’d Sam and Cass bring him here?

            “I got a can here, but I gotta tell you that puke might help this carpet,” Bobby grumbles. Rougher hands help me straighten up and a smelly trash bin’s shoved under my face. I hack up more bile and acid into it.

            “What’s wrong with him? Uncle healed him.”

            “Maybe he didn’t heal him enough,” Bobby says.

            “Or maybe Dean’s just nauseous,” Mom says. “He’s been through Hell.”

            The trash can disappears and Mom helps me lean back. “You okay, hon?” she asks.

            “Just… stomach trouble. It’s fine.”

            “You hurting? You need a doctor, or anything?”

            “I don’t think so.” My head pounds. “Just some aspirin and water?”

            “Aspirin and water we have,” Mom says. “Sam, everything okay over there?”

            “Yeah, he’s coming around already,” Sam says. His voice sounds closer. I open my eyes—hadn’t realized I’d closed them. Sam stands next to Mom, looking me over. “I don’t think we should stay in this place. Cass has more cash. We can get a better motel.”

            “Or we can just go home,” I say, accepting the water and pills Jack brings me.

            “Home is a day away, and we can’t drive straight there. We need to throw Michael off for a while,” Sam says. “You don’t want to ride in a car for two or three days if your stomach’s not acting right, Dean. We need to spend the night somewhere tonight.”

            “Anywhere, but here.” Gabriel’s voice is tired, but firm. “Manifest money, Castiel, or I’m camping out in the car.”

            “I have enough money for decent rooms, Gabriel.”

            “And McDonald’s? I need a McGriddle and an Oreo flurry.”

            “You need some fruit, vegetables and a sandwich,” Sam says, looking across the room to where Gabriel sits with his head in his hands.

            One angelic glare coming up. “Nephew?”

            I blink as Jack perks up beside me.

            “Be a sport and fetch a soda out of the car for me. They’re in my bag. You can have one too.” 

            Jack grins. “Okay!” and heads for the door, a little pep in his step. What happened between those two? They’re chummy—Uncle and Nephew.

            Sam sighs, long and deep. That’s the sigh he usually reserves for me. I’m glad somebody else is deserving of it for a chance. “Are you hungry too, Dean?” Sam asks. “We need to get you cleaned up and… and then get to a better place so you can rest.”

            I take in my little brother, he’s haggard and—my Chuck, he’s got a full-on beard. I stare, wanting to reach out and see if I can yank it off. Sammy with a beard. That’s wrong—and totally distracting. Distractions are what I need right now.

            “Yeah, let’s…let’s do something about this.” I gesture at how gross I am.

            “Well, a shower’s gotta be out,” Gabriel mutters. “Unless you’re all caught up on your Hepatitis shots.”

            Sam rolls his eyes. “Let’s change your clothes and we’ve got towels. Come on, Dean.” He helps me stand, then puts his hands on my shoulders, staring at me for a minute. I think he wants a hug, but also doesn’t want to get covered in my barf. I give him a nod.

            “I’m okay, Sammy.”

            He frowns at me, his eyes troubled. “Sure, sure you are.” He squeezes my shoulders. “Good to have you back. I’ll uh… You’re covered in barf. Let’s…”

            I laugh a little and fumble to remove my barf-splattered shirt. “Uh, Mom?”

            “It’s not like I haven’t seen it…”

            “Since I was four,” I finish for her.

            She huffs, snatching car keys off a random table and leaving the room. Bobby follows after a beat, giving me a nod before he goes out.

            “Catch me up on that beard while I clean up, Sammy.”

            Sam grunts, hands going to his facial hair before he gives me ‘the sigh’. “Where do you want me to start?”

            “That night is good.”

            That night. The church, Lucifer’s death, the power I’d had, and the control I’d lost.

             Yeah, that night is a great place to start.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sam

           

            Archangels get carsick when they’re low on grace. I shouldn’t be surprised. In fact, I’m not. What I’m shocked over is the fact that Gabriel threw up over the backseat and Dean calmly said: Pull over at this gas station coming up so we can hose down the back and switch seats. Even Cass stared at the body-snatcher pretending to be Dean as he took in the mess made and went inside to ask a gas station attendant for cleaning supplies. Gabriel went to the restroom to wash off and change his clothes.

            Jack sits on the hood of the car, looking from me to Cass. “Is Dean being weird?”

            “Yes,” I say. “He should be having kittens. The last time someone threw up in his car, he made them get out and walk the rest of the way.”

            “Was it you?” Jack’s eyes are round.

            I snort. “No, another hunter, a newbie. Felt bad for the guy. He couldn’t handle the smell of blood. He ended up getting out of the business and going back to optometry school.”

            I glance at Cass. Dean’s not himself. He’s quiet, letting me drive, not insisting I change the radio station. Mom and Bobby had driven on ahead to get back to the bunker before us, because I think we need to stop and sleep in beds every night instead of driving straight through. Dean doesn’t complain. He nods and trudges into whatever room our keys open.

            Gabriel comes back to the Impala in a different hoodie and jeans, hands tucked in his hoodie pockets, head bowed in shame. “Is Dean still talking to the store guy?” Gabriel jerks his thumb at the station’s convenience store.

            “Yeah,” I say, looking the angel over. A thin sheen of sweat covers his brow and he seems shaky. “How are you?”

            “I think I need to sit up front when it gets bumpy and not watch anymore movies with subtitles on your phone.” He rubs his eyes. He looks at his shoes. “I am really sorry about this, guys. That was…”

            “Don’t be embarrassed,” Jack says. “No one’s mad. Not even Dean.”

            “Which is weird, right?” Gabriel asks. “He’s got an unnatural affection for this car. I thought I was going to get put out on the street and made to sing for my dinner.”

            Jack busts laughing. “Sing for your dinner? Why would you think you’d have to do that?”

            “Well, I don’t have a job and I can’t exactly zap up a resume right now, so I’d need a way to make money,” Gabriel says, leaning on the hood of the Impala and smirking at Jack.

            “People would probably pay you to stop singing,” I murmur, wanting in on the joke.

            Gabriel rolls his head in my direction. “Would they?” He breaks into a rendition of a new song that’s on the radio every ten minutes—and he’s not bad, at all. Two college-aged girls, filling their car and chatting by the gas pump across from ours, look over at us, grinning and giggling. Gabriel stops caterwauling and waves at them.

            “You want to go talk to them, Nephew?” Gabriel asks.

            “Uh…” Jack looks like a deer in headlights. “I…”

            Gabriel raises both brows. “It’d just be for fun. Come on, you need the practice. We’re not going to ask them out or anything.” He wipes the sweat off his brow and redoes his topknot. Dean makes fun of my beard when he should be making fun of Gabriel’s hairdos: man buns, topknots or a thick braid down his back. I asked him if he wanted to go and get his hair cut, but he got offended, muttering something about how he would never compromise the integrity of his vessel’s outer appearance. Castiel later told me that Gabriel and the human who’d given Gabriel his vessel had been close. The man probably looks the same as he did back in biblical times, only dressed in modern clothing.

            “I thought you were sick,” I say.

            “I’m better now,” Gabriel says, a flash of embarrassment in his eyes, before he grabs Jack’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”

            Jack looks hesitant but he lets Gabriel pull him. They walk, Jack mimicking Gabriel’s ‘cool guy’ posture as he walks confidently toward the girls. Bet the ladies will think Jack and Gabriel are the same age as they probably are—nineteen or twenty, in college somewhere. They stop by the pump, Gabriel talking first. The girls laugh and the conversation begins, Gabriel engaging both girls but gesturing to Jack every now and again. Jack smiles and looks to be talking too, but he’s not as lively as Gabriel who talks with his hands while brushing curls out of his eyes.

            “He’s really good at that,” I can’t help but murmur.

            “Always was,” Castiel says. “He was rarely in Heaven after God made the archangels bloodlines for vessels. He mingled with many humans. He even brought his vessels to Heaven to show them around and God encouraged us all to be more like him. But…” Castiel shakes his head and gestures at Gabriel. “None of us could quite be like _that_. Father had attributes that He wanted each archangel to embody.”

            “What attribute did Chuck assign Lucifer?”

            Castiel frowns. “Lucifer was his pride, so he was confident and winsome. Michael was his loyal heart, so he was devout and dutiful. Raphael was his desire to improve and be better, so he was studious and inquisitive. Gabriel was his joy, so he was charismatic and youthful.”

            “Huh. Lucifer and Gabriel, pride and joy,” I say, then chuckle. Children are supposed to be their parents’ pride and joy, but in Chuck’s case they had to be one or the other.

            “Lucifer could pretend to be what Gabriel is; he was charismatic and liked to be the center of attention. He drew people in,” Castiel says slowly. “It’s how he fooled and tempted humanity. Everything was a ploy to damn their souls.”

            “So, why wasn’t Gabriel Chuck’s favorite?” I’m truly confused on that one. Lucifer had been a problem child, a night-terror, something that Chuck had had to lock away. Yet, He himself admitted that Lucifer was His favorite son.

            Castiel shrugs. “If you had been there to see, you might have thought that he was. Gabriel always seemed to get what he wanted. A decree would come out and all of us would follow it, except for Gabriel who would assure us that Father said he didn’t have to. But God was strict with Michael and Lucifer; they had to model each decree for us. It was a great honor to be trusted with the duties given to Lucifer and Michael. That’s how God showed favoritism, by delegating more to you. So, by letting Gabriel run a little wild, it may have meant that God didn’t think Gabriel could handle heavy burdens and valued him less. And, well, who could blame Him for thinking that? Gabriel ran away, often, and one day, never came back.”

            I think about me and Dean. I’d always figured Dean to be Dad’s favorite because he was obedient; he practiced and worked-out and trained to be the best soldier Dad could ask for. He didn’t want to disappoint the old man and was prepared to be Dad’s back-up for the rest of his life. That would have been enough for Dean. Had it been the same for our world Michael? And then there’s me, the youngest, the one who fought with Dad all the time and challenged what we were brought up to do and what my future should hold. Gabriel himself had likened me to Lucifer—but I ran away like Gabriel did. Dad indulged me more than he did Dean. Dean was expected to do what he was told the first time, while Dad sweetened my way with toys and treats. Maybe Dean and I were pride and joy too.

            The shop bells ring as the convenience store door opens and Dean comes out holding a bucket. He walks in the direction of the Impala, but his head is turned, gaze on Jack and Gabriel, as he comes to us.

            “What’s going on over there?” Dean asks.

            “I think Gabriel is teaching Jack how to… flirt,” Cass says. “It seems to be working.”

            Is it me, or does Cass sound bitter? I try to catch his eye, but his eyes are only for Jack. An epiphany hits me. Is Castiel jealous of Gabriel’s growing relationship with Jack? Jack does follow Gabriel like a puppy now and has really taken to calling him ‘uncle.’ I reach over, patting Cass on the back.

            “Hey,” I say to him, when he looks at me in question. “Gabriel’s the cool uncle. You’re Jack’s dad.”

            “As are you,” Cass says. “I’m not…” He sighs. “Why do I feel jealous of him when I’m not jealous of you or Dean?”

            “Because we’re not shiny new toys?” Dean says. “Or treating him like our best new buddy. If Gabriel ever started telling him what not to do, Jack wouldn’t be so enamored.”

            Castiel bites his lip then nods. “You really think so?”

            “Yeah,” Dean says. “It’s law that you always like the cool, young uncle or auntie over your boring old parents. That’s us, boring old parents. Well, you and Sam are old.”

            “Hey, you’re older than me,” I snap.

            “But who’d guess that after talking to you, Gramps?” Dean says. He smirks at me, a patented Dean look that makes me feel better about how he’s been lately. He’s acting like the Dean I know right now. “So, the guy in the shop says there’s a hose around back and I let me borrow this bucket and some soap. I’m gonna pull the car around. If you guys want to help, just follow me around.”

            “You’re not going to make Gabriel help?” Cass asks.

            Dean shrugs. “Dude pulled me out of Hell in my own head. I think I owe him a little something. So, I’m gonna let him slide on this one. But he’s definitely riding shotgun the rest of the trip… and I’m driving.”

            I raise a brow. “Are you up to…” I trail off at his dark look. “Okay. Sure. We’ll try it.”

            Dean holds out his hand. “Keys.”

            I toss him the ring and step back as he gets in the driver’s seat and starts the engine. Gabriel and Jack both look over when the car coasts around the building. Gabriel frowns at Cass and me and I wave at him and mouth that ‘it’s okay’ for him to stay where he is.

            “Do you want to help Dean wash the car?” I ask Castiel.

            “What else is there to do, besides spy on Jack?” Castiel asks. “We may as well. The sooner the car gets cleaned, the sooner we can get back on the road. I’ll feel much better once when we get back to the bunker and Mia can look Dean over and maybe see if he’ll talk to her.”

  
            Dean and talking do not go hand in hand, but she got him to talk before.

            Castiel and I walk around the building to see Dean out of the car and opening the back door. He groans and looks over at us. “Just what do you feed that guy? Gross!”

            I don’t want to look at it. I, instead, help Dean pull the hose from the spigot it’s wrapped around against the brick wall of the convenience store. Dean leaves me with the hose as he peers into the bucket and pulls out a small bottle of dish washing liquid and a sponge. He makes a face.

            “Damn, I forgot the big towel on the counter to dry everything off with. Cass, can you run in the store and grab it?” Dean asks.

            Castiel wordlessly agrees and vanishes around the corner.

            I work with the hose, getting it on and starting the hose-down process. It reminds me of old times, traveling with Dad. There had been plenty of accidents. Too much fast food, stomach flus, concussions. The back of this car has seen a lot of barf over the years, some more spectacular than Gabriel’s Nickelodeon slime worthy effort.

            Dean squeezes a generous amount of soap into the bucket, working silently, not a whistle or a joke coming from him, and it scares me.

            “Where do you want to stop tonight, Dean? You can pick the town.”

            “It don’t matter to me, Sammy. I’d really prefer to drive through the night, but I don’t get much of a choice in that, do I?”

            “I…” the way he said he doesn’t get a choice bothers me. Makes me feel like a tyrant, someone oppressing Dean’s desires and feelings—like Michael or Alastair. I don’t want to be that to Dean, not when he’s hurting inside. Not when he won’t tell me what’s going on in his head. I can’t be like the enemy. “You choose, Dean. If you don’t want to stop tonight, we won’t. The others should be fine. Gabriel and Jack are okay sleeping in the car, and you, me and Cass can trade off driving.”

            Dean takes the hose from me, filling the soapy bucket with water, attention fixed on his task. “You sure, Sam?”

            “Yeah, you pick.”

            Dean sighs, moving to turn off the hose. “I like that phrase, ‘you pick.’ Almost sounds like free will. Something none us has, huh?” His laugh is humorless as he comes back to stare into the frothy bucket, then he looks up at me, hazel eyes dark and heavy. “Let’s go on home, Sammy. No more stops, okay? That’s what I want.”

  
            With my heart as heavy as Dean’s eyes, I say, “Then, that’s the plan. Team Free Will, Dean. That’s us.”

            Dean dunks the sponge in the bucket, eyes not meeting mine. “We need a new team name.”

            I blink. “Dean…”

            But Dean leans inside the car, wiping down the leather seats, and not listening to me.

 

* * *

 

~*~

 

            The bunker is alive with action when we get back. Dean tenses at all the faces that turn to gape at him when we enter the library.

            “Oh, these guys are still here.” He doesn’t even fake a smile.

            “That’s what I say every time I go into the kitchen,” Gabriel mutters and earns a chuckle from Dean. The sound makes me smile, haven’t heard it in weeks.

            I clear my throat and the wary eyes move from Dean to me. “We’re back, and the mission was successful. Dean’s Michael-free.”

            Claps and lackluster cheers. They don’t care about Dean. They don’t know him. He hasn’t been here training them for hunting work and setting the structure for the operation. The group’s attention reverts to whatever they were doing before we entered, though nervous eyes do glance at Dean from time to time. Anything Michael touched should freak them out.

            “They don’t like me either,” Gabriel says, sounding chipper, as we pass through the library into the dormitory halls.

            “You still having nightmares and vaporizing shit?” Dean asks.

            Gabriel shrugs. “It’s not like I ever toasted a human or anything.”

            “It’s still scary,” Jack says. “Even Cass jumps backs.”

            “You know what,” Gabriel says, “I think I can sense what I probably shouldn’t roast, so you guys are all safe. Okay?” He rolls his eyes. “And I don’t have as many accidents as before.”

            “Oh yeah?” Dean asks.

            Gabriel shrugs.

            “He’s been talking to Mia,” Sam says.

            “The shapeshifter?” Dean asks. “She’s here?”

            “Yeah,” Gabriel says. “I like her. She’s good to talk to. She doesn’t go around sharing stuff with the group because she thinks everyone should know so they can help.” He gives me and Cass a very pointed look.

            Dean frowns. “You tell her all your business?”

            Gabriel gives a half-shrug this time. “What I can stand to talk about on whatever given day we’re having a session.” His eyes are bright as he focuses straight head. “Getting it out is how we’re trying to get me fixed. But… it’s slow. Feels like it’s going to take forever. I just… you know what time in Hell is like.” His eyes flit to Dean and Dean’s skin goes ashen.

            “Yeah, yeah, I do,” Dean says. “Days are years.”

            “Mia’s lifespan isn’t long enough to discuss almost a thousand years in Hell,” Gabriel says, voice light. “So, we’ve been sticking to Heaven. We’re at Noah’s Ark now.”

            “Did he really fit two of everything on a boat?” Dean asks.

            “Nah,” Gabriel says. “He took what he wanted. He left his mother-in-law.”

            “Was she a nag?”

            “The worst,” Gabriel says.

            Dean and Gabriel walk side by side, our resident masters of changing the subject when others get too close to what’s eating them up inside. I would point out what they’re both doing, but that would make them stop talking completely—and Dean’s smiling. Not huge, not infectious, but his mouth curves upward, the expression reaching his eyes. Gabriel got a laugh and a smile out of Dean. It’s truly his gift.

            Castiel frowns as he sidles up beside Gabriel, putting Gabriel in the middle of the trio. “Did you tell Mia what led up to the events of the flood?” The look he gives Gabriel is intense. I’m suddenly more interested in this conversation. Jack walks beside me, but I can tell he wants to speed up and join Dean, Castiel and Gabriel’s little huddle.

            Gabriel shrugs. “Yeah, it wouldn’t be fixing me if I skipped that part, Cass.”

            We reach _our_ corridor; the rooms of the trainees are in another wing—the students’ quarters. Our wing has its own communal bathrooms for men and women respectively, so Mom gets a bathroom to herself. She and Bobby should be getting here in a few more hours. They’d taken an even more scenic route than we had back.

            “What led up to it?” Jack asks, he does walk faster, poking his head between Gabriel and Dean.

            Gabriel sighs and turns, walking backwards, to face Jack. “Another time?”

            Jack’s brow furrows. “It has to do with my dad, doesn’t it?”

            Gabriel hums. “You’re getting better at this, Nephew.”

            The group stops moving as we get to our own individual rooms. Time to separate. After riding five-deep in the Impala for two and a half days and sleeping five to a hotel room, I’m ready for some me time. But I feel bad splitting from Dean—I just got him back.

            Gabriel’s the first person to open the door to his and Cass’s room. He whistles. “Ooh, my Amazon packages are here! Who the hell was brave enough to actually come in here and dump them on my bed?” The door closes behind him.

            Dean blinks and looks at us. “Who’s ordering him stuff off Amazon?”

            “Uh… I let him use one of the credit cards,” Cass says, sounding apologetic. “He’s been doing so well hunting with us that I thought he should get something. I mean, you all have things in your rooms. And he seems to require material items to keep him occupied, so I let him decorate.”

            “But Amazon?” Dean says. “Delivery guys coming to the door?”

            “We have an Amazon locker,” Cass says, now defensive. “Someone is designated to go once a week to check it.”

            “Just like the mail,” I supply. I’ve ordered some stuff off Amazon too. It’s one of the rotating chores passed between the trainees, check the post office box and the Amazon locker. Someone else gets to sort the mail and put it in the appropriate places.

            “It was probably Maggie,” Jack says. “She’s not afraid of us—me and Gabriel and Cass, I mean.”

            Dean glances in the direction of his room, then at Gabriel’s door. “Ah… I need to ask him about something. I’ll see you all later.” Dean knocks on Gabriel and Cass’s door, then lets himself in before the archangel can answer.

            “Okay,” I say. “That was…strange.”

            Jack stares at Gabriel’s closed door longingly—two of his favorite people are hanging out without him. I groan inwardly. I can’t walk away from Jack when he makes that face. It makes me feel like a Grinch. Bye-bye me time.

            “So…how about a movie, guys?” I say, forcing cheer into my voice, but some of that fake cheer turns genuine at Jack’s big smile.

            A movie it is, and then later, I’ll find Dean and ask him what’s going on between him and Gabriel.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean

 

Gabriel was in my head, saw my soul, did his best to stitch it and to exit without leaving anything behind, but he did leave some things. Echoes of feelings that resonate with some of mine. He knows Hell. He knows what it’s like to be trapped. To watch a family train wreck that he can’t stop. To want to escape so bad, he’d do anything. And he did do anything—he’d gotten himself away—only to overpay the price for it. I didn’t get away—ever—and I overpaid too. I like being around him, because I don’t have to talk. We play pool or poker and I watch him teach Jack how to play video games.

Sam and I go out, we try and fail at picking up Michael’s trail. It’s like he’s gone completely, but I know he’s not. He’s not finished. He’s got a plan that he wouldn’t let me see, even inside my own head, secrets were kept. While Sam and I are out, Cass, Jack and Gabriel work regular cases. They salt and burn, decapitate and shoot monsters, chase off bad witches. They’re having the fun I used to, and when they come home and we’re all together, they talk about it, and I envy the good times they shared. But then wonder how Gabriel can have so much fun with so much Hell in his head and heart.

When I got back from Hell, I faked it until I almost broke. Before Gabriel healed me, I thought that maybe things were just different for angels. They don’t feel how we do, so his head-space was an easy fix. Sure, he atomized inanimate objects after nightmares, but he joked and ate candy bars and didn’t take his anger out on little things—like I did. After the healing though, I felt it—the mess. And I know we’re the same.

Gabriel sits cross-legged on a couch in the den, wearing a wireless headset and playing a co-op sniper video game with some kid in Brazil. Every now and again he murmurs something in Portuguese. He’d asked me earlier if I wanted to play, but I’m not into video games like that. I do that stuff in real life. I think Gabe just likes talking to new people about things that don’t matter. Whenever we take him out in public, he makes new friends. He’s been doing Jack a lot of good, getting him to talk to kids around the age he looks to be.

Jack comes into the room with a pint of vanilla ice cream, a liter of root beer and a big spoon. He sets it on the coffee table in front of Gabriel, then sits on the floor at his feet to watch the game. The kid really dotes on his uncle who’s taken the place of Lucifer when it comes to Jack learning more about his archangel nature. Gabriel thanks Jack, opening both containers and pouring the soda over the ice cream. This dude should weight 300 pounds with all the junk he eats, but he’s still struggling to put on weight.

“Dean, Uncle’s going to teach me how to learn another language,” Jack says. “He says angels pick them up really fast and that I can probably do it.”

“Oh yeah?” I’m only half interested, until Gabriel suddenly places his headset over Jack’s ears.

“Keep me updated on what Niccolò says, kid.”

“Huh?” Jack pushes the microphone away from his lips. “But I can’t understand what he’s saying!”

“Yes, you can,” Gabriel says simply, eyes on the TV screen displaying the video game. “All you have to do is want to.”

Jack looks blank.

“Concentrate on his words,” Gabriel says. “Once you get frustrated enough at the fact that you can’t understand him, it should click. But let’s try to get it to click before this raid is screwed over.”

Jack’s eyes go wide. “I don’t want to mess up your game!”

“Then don’t,” Gabriel says. “It’s that easy. Tell me what he’s saying now, kid.”

“Uh…I don’t know, it’s… it sounds like Spanish, but it’s not.”

“Oh… that explosion wasn’t good, kid. You’re messing up our rhythm. You gotta tell me what he’s saying.”

“I can’t—oh, now he’s angry! He’s… he’s calling you really bad names.”

“That kid’s got a real mouth on him,” Gabriel mutters. “What else?”

“Oh… I can’t repeat that.”

Gabriel chews his cheek. “Brat.”

“You can hear him?” I utter to Gabriel, low enough that Jack can’t hear me.

Gabriel looks at me, bats his girly lashes, and smiles. “I’m not going to really lose this game on the account of poor communication. You know how long it took us to get here?”

“He wants to take the east passage. He says to split up and you should go the tree route while he takes the tunnels.” Jack sounds awed. “And he said you better get your head back in the game… and ended that with another bad name. Uncle, I don’t think he’s very nice.”

“He’s just trash-talking, kiddo,” Gabriel says, following the instructions given. “It’s what online gamers do to make other people think we’re big-bads. He’s really just a short, scrawny fourteen-year-old kid in Rio. Goes to private school, in Math Club, plays a cello. Listens to Ariana Grande on repeat.”

I stare at him. “He tell you that or you read it off him?”

Gabriel winks at me. “Saw it. Another skill working its way back into my repertoire. It’s nowhere near how it was, but I can locate most people again and _see_ where exactly they are. I have to be invested in them, so they have to be a person I’ve talked to a few times.”

“Niccolo says he’s going on radio silence for two minutes.”

“Good going,” Gabriel says. “You want to give the headset back, or you want to keep giving me directions and practicing that Portuguese?”

Jack looks back at Gabriel like a deer in headlights before he grins. “I did it.”

“Yeah, you did,” Gabriel says, taking back the headset Jack extends. “But only baby steps, Nephew. You’re going to have to keep practicing. The more you’re around a speaker of the language, the more you’ll pick up.”

“Can I learn it from TV?” Jack asks.

Gabriel shakes his head. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. It’s the human experience. But I’m sure some of the people living here right now speak all sorts of languages. Granted, for your gift to work, the speaker dos have to be a native speaker of that language. It’s called the Language of their Heart. So, it’s basically the language that they ‘think’ in. You’ll know when you talk to them. It’s like putting your hand through an illusion when it’s not their native tongue.”

The headset goes back on and Gabriel seems absorbed into the game again.

Jack beams at his uncle and then at me. “I’m going to learn foreign languages! I’m going to go survey some people!”

I watch Jack run off toward the kitchen where I know a few teams are preparing ingredients for a group dinner. They better be nice to him. I’m getting really annoyed with how these people scatter like roaches or clam up when me, Cass, Jack or Gabriel enter a room. They try to hide it, but it’s too ingrained in them to distrust anything angelic. Can’t blame them really, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to punch somebody.

“You’re doing a real good thing, with Jack, I mean. Teaching him all this stuff,” I grunt. Jack had thought the only way he could learn more about himself was from Lucifer. To think so much could have been avoided had any of us stopped and realized Gabriel and Lucifer are made from the same stuff. But Gabriel had known and hadn’t offered then. Hadn’t been up to the task—might only barely be up to it now.

“Castiel should be able to teach Jack these things,” Gabriel says, spooning root beer float into his mouth. Jack had brought him a spoon too? “All of these skills are minor, which is why I can do them. The fact that Cass hasn’t speaks to what he lost in ‘the fall’.”

I hate not knowing what injuries I should be looking for when it comes to Cass. I know he lost his wings and he’s not as powerful, but now Gabe’s saying there are some parlor tricks Cass can’t do either.

“Not to worry,” Gabriel says. “Maybe he’ll get them all back, but if he doesn’t, he seems to be doing just fine without them. But, it’s kind of fun to learn what all Jack is able to do. I’ve never studied any Nephilim, but I’m sure their abilities vary from being to being and may even be dependent on who their angelic parent was. Just have to be careful. Jack’s grace is very limited right now. I don’t want to burn him out.”

I stare at Gabriel. “You think he’ll start getting sick, like you do? If that’s the case, he doesn’t need to be learning any parlor tricks.”

Gabriel side-eyes me. “I can monitor his levels, Dean. What I teach him doesn’t require much power and he replenishes what he burns at an acceptable rate by maintaining a regular meal and bedtime schedule.”

“You’re looking out for him,” I murmur. That’s good. We both go back to watching the game, Gabriel uttering things in Portuguese every now and again. The game world changes as the characters time-travel. The guns change to rifles.

“You know, if you want to talk about something, I can hear you just fine with these things on,” Gabriel says.

“I know.”

The scenery in the game changes again. The characters are inside a saloon, the rifles turn to bourbon. What kind of game is this?

“Your family is worried about you,” Gabriel says out of the blue, “because you won’t talk to them.”

I sigh, ready to complain about it, but Gabriel keeps talking. “But they know that not talking is the way you cope.”

“Exactly. So, they should…”

“But that won’t stop them from wanting you to talk, because they know you’re hurting inside and they want to help. Because they love you,” Gabriel says. “It’s hard to get mad when people are being annoying out of love. And your family, they’re really what God wanted us—my brothers and sisters—to see in humanity. The unconditional love that keeps you guys open to caring for others, even ones who hurt them. I mean, they’ve opened their arms to me, and believe me, when I say I don’t deserve it, I mean it. But here I am sitting on your couch eating junk food there’s really no budget for, but I’m the brat who’ll only eat ice cream.”

I roll my eyes. “There’s budget for what you want. You, Jack, Cass, Sam, Mom, this is our place. Those other guys are just living here until they can go back home—or find their own places. There are way too many people in here. I’m tired of stretching meals and Sammy acting all guilty when we grab something to eat at a diner or something. I ain’t pooling my money in a grocery collection plate.”

Gabriel laughs and gives a toothy grin. “You mean that. You tell Sammy? Bet he gave you that look.”

“The disappointed puppy look?” I ask with a snort. “But I can’t help it. It’s how I feel every time I come back to this place and it’s full of… people. I just…”

“It doesn’t quite feel like your home anymore?” Gabriel asks.

“Yeah.”

And that’s it; subject dropped. No ‘So how can we try to make you feel better, Dean?’ No ‘You have to get used to this, Dean.’ Gabe just lets me keep on thinking about it, while he sits there not judging me, because he probably feels the same, but for different reasons. Angelic detachment and all; to him, the trainees who don’t talk to him are probably just noise distracting him from the TV. I know that, because…

“Hey.”

“Yeah?” Gabriel slurps more root beer float.

“When you were, you know, bringing me out of my head-space, I saw some stuff about you. It’s uh…”

“I left something behind?” Gabriel asks. He murmurs something in Portuguese and pauses the game to look at me. “It’s impossible not to. I cleaned up as best I could, but you’ll always feel that I was there. I tried to keep the traces positive. That’s how I left my vessels anyway. Did I…?”

“Did you what?”

“Leave anything bad?”

“N-no. No, man. It’s all good. I, uh, thank you for it. All those parts you healed up, they don’t hurt as much anymore, and you helped shove the real dark parts far enough away to let me face the day, you know? But when they try to come out, I can pull at…at the stuff you left.”

“And it helps?” Gabriel asks.

“Yeah—you...uh…there’s a memory.” And I don’t know if he lost it because I have it or not. I’m confused about how it works. “It’s of you and another guy, you’ve got human hands from what I can see—‘cause in the memory I’m you. So, I’m looking through your eyes, but when you talk, your voice sounds like a woman’s. You’re in this market square, outside, it’s all sandy and old-timey and people are wearing robes and burkas and sandals. And you’re amazed. I just—I feel you taking everything in like you’d never seen it before and everything’s awesome. I mean, just looking at normal-looking people and food and stuff. And the guy you’re with looks like he’s in a strip club for the first time too. And you chatter at him and he talks back, like little kids alone with lots of money to spend and no adults to tell them to be careful. It’s—I like the memory.”

It makes me feel like a kid running around with Sammy at a school fair. Dad had let us go and had given me ten dollars to buy food, candy and play games. We’d had a blast, and I felt like an actual kid with no worries in the world.

“Oh.” Gabriel’s grin is faraway, as is his voice. “Ah. That time. That was when Raphael and I joined with vessels for the first time. Dad had crafted our bloodlines years before, and we’d let our hosts grow into adults before we introduced ourselves and walked among them. What an adventure. It was my first time tasting human food and wine. I’m glad that’s what I left for you.”

“And you still have the memory too?” I ask.

“Yes,” Gabriel says. “I didn’t sacrifice anything, what you have with you is an echo.”

An echo. I recall Gabriel’s seemingly bottomless feelings of happiness, and love when he looked at Raphael, his brother. “It’s hard for me to believe that nice guy you were hanging out with was Raphael. He was… decent. When I met him, he was…”

“An asshole?” Gabriel offers. His expression is sad and he sighs. “Raphael was… he was a follower. There were plenty of things he didn’t like, but he’d do it if Dad or Michael said so. He never asked for anything either, but he wanted stuff, same as I did. And I was his voice. And we did a lot together. He was…” Gabriel looks to be in deep thought, then he smiles. “He’s that friend that never wants to go out. You have to drag him to the party, but once he’s there, he has a better time than he thought and he’s glad you brought him. Without me around…” sadness softens his voice. “I bet he never asked for anything else. Just did whatever he was told to do. When Dad gave him the archangel blade, his spirit was so defeated. He didn’t want to write or read or study. And I cheered him with music, but who else would do that after I left? Of course he was an asshole. What else would you be after hundreds of years of being made to follow other people’s plans. With no Dad to change things up and no one to speak for you.”

“Raphael did plenty of talking when we knew him.”

“Bet he never spoke against Michael,” Gabriel says. “Without Dad around, Michael was next in line to be in charge.”

“I can’t say good things about Raphael, Gabriel,” I say. “He would have seen Sam dead and me a puppet. He wanted to re-start the Apocalypse.” I shudder. I had been a puppet to an evil Michael. What would it have felt like to be a shell for Gabriel’s Michael?

Gabriel gives a one-shoulder shrug, un-pausing his game. “I failed him, you know, by leaving completely. I could have let him know that I was Loki. He wouldn’t have told anyone and he could have come to see me. I asked him to come with me before I left, but, deep down, I knew he wouldn’t. I should have contacted him.”

“He should have gone with you,” I counter.

“He didn’t think I would leave forever,” Gabriel murmurs. “I screwed up. I helped make that cold, angry archangel you met.”

He lapses into silence, his game character navigating the saloon.

“You know.” I’m talking again, talking more than I ever to someone who’s not Sam or Cass. And it’s odd, because I don’t have to talk, I just want to. He’d left that echo for me, to help me cope with the shit-storm inside. “I feel like I fail Sam. He needs someone he can talk to. When he was younger, I was all he had—because Dad moved us around so much. And I wasn’t good at it—and he was miserable and I didn’t help him, and so he was happier when he was away from us, spending time with other people’s families. And then he left us. So…” I started this off trying to make him feel better about thinking he failed a brother, because now Sam and I are closer than ever and Sam insists that I never wronged him, that I was who he’d looked up to when he was a kid. But still, I didn’t stand up to Dad when it came to him. I didn’t go with him to Stanford. I just let him run and stayed away, until Dad went missing. And suddenly I realize that my role as the failure of a brother isn’t Gabriel’s role at all. “You were the little brother. You needed your big brothers to stand up for _you_. You weren’t supposed to talk for them, or even have to ask for them to support you or come with you. You didn’t fail Raphael or anyone else. You wanted them to stop fighting. You didn’t want to fight. They drove you away.”

Gabriel’s role is Sam’s, and…

“They failed you.”

“This coming from the guy who told me I was too much of a pansy to stand up to my family? I didn’t have to run away. I could have stuck around and did an open protest. I took the easy way out. I was scared, Dean, and soul-sick, and I could have done more. But…” he smiles self-depreciatingly, “what’s done is done.”

“I would have protected Sammy. He did things that I hate, that I disagree with, but I always found him in the end and had his back. We’re family.”

Gabriel’s smirk is still in place. “The only relative who ever mentioned protecting me was Lucifer, you know.”

“In the—” I choke, flashing back to Michael taking over. “On that night?”

Gabriel studies me. “Long before that. Before his complete fall. He asked me to come with him, like I’d asked Raphael, and said I wouldn’t have to do anything but stand with him. In Apocalypse World, he said he would have kept me safe and untouched. I…” he swallows, and looks at his root beer float in disgust. He wrinkles his nose. “And there goes my appetite.”

“That’s a lot of food to waste,” I comment.

Gabriel frowns at it. “I’ll put it in the freezer. A root beer float pop or a slushie! Innovative.”

Just like his diversions. But I understand his need. “Sam and I are hitting the road again tomorrow. Got a new Michael lead.”

Gabriel hums. “Was wondering. Seems you’ve been moping around here a lot without much to do. Must kill you.”

I sneer, but he knows what he’s talking about.

“You’re in your room more often than not, avoiding all the extra people. But there are places that aren’t too crowded around here. Hell, come into any room I’m chilling in and it’s usually just me and Jack or Cass or Sam. You sit with me a lot, but maybe try the others, and tell them that you just want to bask in their presence and you’ll applaud their silence. Say it just like that. They’ll stare at you all weird at first, and then…”

“Assume that I talked to you?” I say.

Gabriel nods. “And they’ve noticed how we are in the same room. They know why. Give them a chance.”

“I have.”

“New chances,” Gabriel says. “And…”

“And?” I press.

“Mia is really nice, Dean,” Gabriel says slowly. He pauses his game again to look at me. “I do like actually talking to her. There’s a lot of crap in my head and she’s not there to judge or offer words, she just listens. And sometimes it’s good to just say things out loud and have it out there.”

“I’ve talked to her before.” And don’t plan to do it again. I don’t need a shrink. I can say stuff out loud to Gabriel.

“But you don’t say everything to me,” Gabriel says, as if reading my mind. “You’re afraid to say something that might make me run to Sam or Castiel. And those things you’re afraid of are usually the things that most need to be said.”

“You’re being profound.”

“I’m drunk on root beer. What can I say?” Gabriel slurs, then winks.

We’re quiet for an hour, me dozing until Gabe wakes me with a sneeze.

I jerk to attention, gazing at the archangel. He rubs his nose with the back of a hand and looks annoyed. “Dumb humans and their filthy germs.”

“When we first came back here…” I start and stop, taking pleasure in seeing Gabriel jump. Gabriel stares at me wide-eyed, maybe he’d thought I was still asleep. It’s my turn to smile. “When we first came back here, you were telling us about Noah’s Ark and how Noah left his mother-in-law behind and Cass butted in. He asked if you told Mia the lead up to the flood and you acted funny about it. Is it a story that you don’t want anybody else to really know?”

“Castiel knows it.”

“But does he know it like you do?” I press.

Gabriel frowns at me. “What are you getting at?”

“If…” I want to talk, about more than just the obvious stuff. I want to say the things I don’t want Sam or Cass to know. Maybe Gabriel’s right that I need to say it out loud and not just have him know because he saw my soul. Because he can’t know everything. He saw some, felt some, but a lot is hidden in the dark place. The place that makes me seek out Gabriel and hide from Sam and Castiel. The place that makes me want to lash out, to find Michael and rip him limb from limb. The place that won’t let me sleep more than a few hours at a time, before waking up in a cold sweat.

“If you tell me about that, about things only you and Mia know,” I say slowly. “If you do, then, I’ll… I’ll talk to you. About those things I don’t want anyone else to know. Because you saw inside—and I saw a bit inside you too. You’re a mess, I’m a mess. We both have things we rather hide, family-shit, scary-shit. And I know you can listen and not offer words, just like Mia, but not her. I can’t. But you…”

“You want me to be your shrink?”

“But only if you talk too,” I say. “That’s the exchange.”

“It’s uneven. You get two things out of it, feelings off your chest, and you’ll know my deep darks. Not fair.”

“Who argues to keep your candy on the grocery list?”

Gabriel glares at me. “Sam.”

“He only did that when I was gone. Now he’s back to carrots and broccoli.”

We stare each other down.

Gabriel groans and puts the lid on the ice cream container, sealing away his root beer float, then drinks from the remains of root beer in the liter bottle of soda. “You want to talk to me, not Cass, not Sam, not your mom, because you think I’m neutral. Well, I’m not. I like you Dean. If you tell me something distressing, I will go to Sam or Cass. Still want me?”

I stare at him. It… makes me feel better to know that he cares about me, and I’m surprised to note that I kind of knew that already. Angels aren’t into involving themselves too deeply with people they aren’t invested in. If Gabriel was truly neutral, he wouldn’t have healed me. Even if he was doing it for someone else he liked better, like Cass, or Jack, or even Sam, he wouldn’t have used that much power to fix me.

“I’m not a neutral when it comes to you either,” I say after a beat. And it’s not going to win me any favors. Will undoubtedly make him less likely to want to share with me, but… his gold-green eyes twinkle.

“Why, Dean Winchester, you’re a big softie for angels!” He purrs in a high-pitched voice. “I mean, I knew that, but for me too? But then again, you do buy me candy and you brought me a blanket in Apocalypse World. Aaaw!”

I roll my eyes. “Never mi—”

“Okay,” Gabriel says. He finishes his soda and belches loud and long. Impressive. “Okay, we’ll talk. Wanna do it like Mia and set up time slots, or do you wanna…”

“Just find each other?” I say.

Gabriel watches me.

“I’ll find you,” I say. Because I’m the one who needs to talk for real. He has Mia, he’s just sharing to make me feel better about sharing, because he cares.

“Bring ice cream,” Gabriel says. He un-pauses his game and fully commits to it, not saying anything else to me, not even a ‘See you later’ when I leave the room to find Sam so we can discuss tomorrow’s hunting plans.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel

 

            Dean and Gabriel are besties. That’s what Jack says now that he’s taken to watching television after practice and lessons. They can be found in the recreation room, in the gym, and in each other’s rooms at any given time. Their conversations always stop when someone pokes their head in a room or walks by. They have secrets.

            And I’m not jealous—but first Jack, now Dean. Gabriel’s become the ‘angel of choice.’

            Shiny new toy, Dean said. Only Gabriel’s not new anymore. He’s been with us for more than two months. The novelty should have worn off, which means these are now normal relationships and I need to get used to them. I wring my hands as I make my way to room I share with Gabriel. Get used to it—Dean and Gabriel pouring drinks and talking about private matters, instead of Dean pouring me drinks and laughing at my responses to what he says. Jack watching Gabriel with stars in his eyes as Gabriel shows him how to alter the appearances of small items to fool humans. Jack doesn’t ask me questions anymore, just tells me what he learns.

            I enter. I’d woken him up before I left to wake Jack. We have a mission, suspected haunting a couple hours away. “Gabriel, this is your final wake up call.” I usually have to wake him up twice; he falls asleep again after the first time and I let him doze for a few extra minutes.

            I pull the blankets off him, and he curls up on his side, mumbling… in Enochian. I shake him gently, frowning. “Gabriel?” He won’t rouse. Has he woken up at all today? I think back to when I’d first turned on the lights and asked him to wake up this morning. He’d mumbled, but I hadn’t actually seen his eyeballs.  I pat his cheek. “Gabriel, wake up.”

            No response at all.

            I leave my hand on his face, checking for fever. He’s warm, but not enough to be worrisome. On his bedside table are a bottle of Gatorade and a small glass of water. I take the water, splashing some on his face. Nothing.

            I think to call Sam or Dean, but they’re off on a Michael hunt—no angels allowed. I’m on my own. I pinch the archangel then peel his eyelids open, watching his pupils react to the light. Okay. I try a little angelic energy, touching two fingers to his temples to deliver a shock. His body quivers and he sucks in a sharp breath, but his lashes don’t flutter.

            I could put him in the shower. That works for people who are too drunk or took too many drugs. Maybe it will—I jump back with a startled yelp as Gabriel suddenly bolts into a sitting position, gasping for air and staring wildly about the room before his eyes find me.

            Several things happen—or rather, several things catch fire, the blanket at the foot of the bed, my armchair, and a stack of magazines. The flames burn blue, leaping high, before they puff out, leaving behind wisps of silver smoke. Gabriel swallows audibly and scrubs at his face, shoulders heaving. I inch back to the bed, hand hovering over his shoulder. I don’t know if it’s all right to touch him just yet.

            “Gabriel? Are you all right?”

            It takes a few minutes for him to calm down and pull his hands away from his face. He looks at me with large, wet eyes. “Castiel.” His voice is shaky and small.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “He’s calling me.” He shudders and chafes at his arms. I grab the blanket at the end of the bed, frowning at the singed hole in the middle of it now. I’ll have to bring in another later. For now, though, I go back to his side, rubbing his back.

            “Who is?”

            “Cye.” Tears spill down his cheeks. “His soul is crying. His Heaven is crumbling. He’s scared.”

            Cye—Gabriel’s vessel. Heaven. Fear lances through my chest. “Heaven is dying, Gabriel. Has been. It needs more angels, an archangel.”

  
            And he knew that. I told him that, but for it to reach him here means that things are worse now. Dire. A sense of urgency makes me pull on my knuckles. “We need to go to Heaven, find out what’s changed, if more angels have died.”

            Gabriel shudders at ‘go to Heaven’, but doesn’t object. Instead, he makes a move to get up. “I’ll get dressed.”

 

* * *

 

 

~*~

 

            Jack’s upset about being left behind. Understandable, but he cannot enter Heaven being that he is half human, and half Lucifer’s. I do not want to him to face the scorn that would be thrown in his direction. I drive as Gabriel sits in the passenger seat sipping from a sports bottle full of orange juice and cane sugar, trying to pull himself together.

            The ride to one of Heaven’s Gates will take hours, but I don’t know if that will be long enough for Gabriel. He’s pale and shaky, not just from the nightmare, but from something else too. “Gabriel…?”

            “What are they going to think of me up there, Cass?” Gabriel says, still using that soft voice he had when he’d first woken up. “I didn’t want to show my face while I’m still like this, you know. I at least wanted to have more power. They’re going to—” He turns toward the window, sneezing in threes.

            “You’re coming down with another cold,” I say. He’s very prone to them.

            “I can’t go up there like this,” he moans, sniffling miserably.

            “Gabriel, they won’t care. They just need your presence. Anything to stabilize Heaven more,” I say. He slumps against the window.

            “I had a homecoming planned in my head, you know,” he says. “Every year, the plans changed, and changed… and then I quit thinking about it completely, until you brought it up. But after Lucifer, I just… Castiel, I was never going to go back.”

  
            I blink at him in shock. “You’re just upset about Lucifer…”

  
            Gabriel shakes his head. “There’s nothing for me there, but loss, and it’s…” He chews his nails. “It could be my fault.”

            “What?” The car nearly glides into a guardrail. I pull over onto a wide shoulder and put the car in park, so I can look at my brother. “What’s your fault?”

            “You know what’s my fault,” Gabriel sighs. “I keep…” He lowers his head. “I’m talking about the past with Mia, with Dean. And the more I talk, the more I think: Damn, I was a real brat. I should have gone home, after Lucifer was caged, I should have gone back. Raphael needed me. And maybe both us could have talked to Michael, and… It’s just all messed up in here, Cass. Don’t mind me.”

            “You and Dean talk about it?” Is that what they do over pool, talk about biblical times?

            “He asks,” Gabriel says. “Nothing cures depression like listening to the stories of an epic screw-up. No matter how bad you were, that guy’s always worse. I’m happy to be of service.”

            “I’m sure he doesn’t talk to you for that reason.”

  
            Gabriel shrugs. “Probably not. Like I said, don’t mind me. I’m just being emo.” He sneezes a few more times and I gesture to the glove compartment.

            “There’s a box of tissue in there,” I say. “Do you need medicine?”

            “Not if you didn’t pack any,” Gabriel says, blowing his nose with the tissue he retrieved. The congestion gurgles and I grimace, reaching out to touch his forehead as I had in the bunker this morning. Warm, not worrying now, but he might have a fever by tonight.

            “We’ll check into a hotel near the Gate. You can stay there and I’ll go to Heaven and check.”

            Gabriel looks at me as he balls a used tissue up in one fist. “I came with you so that I could go to Heaven and check on Cye.”

            “But you don’t want to go, and you’re ill,” I say.

            “I could have just stayed home then,” Gabriel frowns at me.

            I sigh. True, but… “If I need back-up, you’re the only one on our team who can follow me in.”

            Gabriel smirks. “I knew there was a reason I got in the car.”

            “The reason is you want to save Heaven for your bloodline. You are noble, Gabriel,” I say, starting the car and pulling back onto the highway.

            Gabriel laughs, the sound rusty with congestion in his throat. “I’m a lot of things, but noble ain’t one of them, Cass. You’re just too nice to come up with another word.”

            “Gabriel,” I start and stop. After all he’s done and all the successes we’ve had in making him see that he’s a helpful part of the team and family, a few nightmares can still bring him all the way back to step one. “Believe what you want then. There’s no stopping you. We’ve all already told you what we think and how we feel.”

            “Yeah,” he breathes. “I know. It’s just… Heaven, you know.”

            “Yeah. I know.” I chance a quick look at him, slumped against the window again, eyes closed, hands clenched into fists. Jack has a special relationship with Gabriel. Dean does. Sam too—they’ve had heart-to-hearts. My heart is jealous, but maybe not for what I initially thought. It’s not that Gabriel’s taking my friends, it’s that my friends are taking him, and making him a real part of their lives. Being family doesn’t just involve proximity and fighting side-by-side. We help. Jack helps by making Gabriel feel needed and appreciated. Dean helps by making Gabriel feel trusted. Sam helps by making Gabriel feel welcome. I help by…

            Gabriel clears his throat and pulls the collar of his coat up higher.

            I turn up the heater in the car and actively look for the next exit off the highway. “Let’s find a drug store nearby. We’ve got about four hours before we reach the gate. I don’t want you to suffer for that long.”

  
            He opens one eye to look at me. “Suffer? I’m fine. Just a stupid, human cold.” He coughs and flinches, touching his throat and swallowing timidly. He closes his eye, shifting around as if about to fall asleep, but before he does, he murmurs, “Thanks for looking after me, brother.”

            I help by being that word: brother.

            I take the next exit that has an icon for a gas station and pull into the lot, hoping the convenience store has the candy-flavored medicine Gabriel won’t spit out.

 

* * *

 

 

~*~

 

            Sam calls as we make our way to the motel room I rented for the night. I pass the key card for the room to Gabriel so I can answer the phone and balance a duffle bag. Gabriel opens the door to the room and trudges in, tossing his duffle bag to the side and flopping face-down on one of the full-sized beds. The room is small, plain, but clean.

            “Hello, Sam,” I say as I inspect the wood-pressed furniture and thin carpet. I put my duffle bag on the unoccupied bed and pull out a large canister of salt and other tools I need to ward off the room from evil.

            “How’s the ghost hunt going?”

            “We gave it to another team. Jack did not go with them, he remains at the bunker.”

            “What? Why? I thought you were all studied up and ready to investigate. Did something happen?” Sam’s voice is sharp with concern.

            “Heaven,” I say, wondering how best to explain it. “Heaven may be falling, and Gabriel and I are near one of Heaven’s Gates now.”

            “You said Heaven was in trouble a while back. Did you get a message?”

            “Gabriel may have,” I say, glancing over at the archangel on the other bed. He’s still sprawled on his stomach but he turns his head to face me. “He dreamed about disaster in his vessel’s Heaven and was called on to help him.”

  
            Sam is quiet for a moment. “Cass… Gabe has a lot of nightmares.”

            Gabriel scowls and presses his face back into the mattress.

            “He’s never had one like this before.”

            “Are you sure?” Sam asks. “Did he say that?”

            “No, but I figured he would mention if he’s had similar dreams,” I say. “He felt it was a cry for help and I think that warrants a visit.”

            “Alone, though,” Sam says. “What if it’s a trap and you two go up there and can’t get back?”

            “I’m going up alone. Gabriel’s going to wait for me. If something’s wrong, he can call you. And then, he can come in after me.”

            “Gabriel can?” Sam says, tone a trifle dubious. “That him?”

            I glance over at Gabriel pushing up onto his knees as he coughs into the sleeve of his sweatshirt, and don’t answer Sam.

            “Your backup sounds like Hell, Castiel,” Sam says. “Dean and I are…we’re done here. We can be on our way in an hour. Just wait, please. We won’t stop for the night, we’ll drive straight through. I know how to get there.”

            My chest tightens. “You’re done. Did you find—”

            “We found someone who has a weapon that can hurt Michael,” Sam says, but he doesn’t sound triumphant. Something’s happened. “But she’s gone and took the spear with her. Turns out, she and that spear may have been what got Michael to leave Dean.”

            “So, we need the spear,” I say. “The girl doesn’t want to fight with us?”

            “She doesn’t trust us,” Sam says. “It…it’s a long story. I’ll tell you when we meet up. Will you wait for us? I mean, I know we can’t just pass through the gate, but I’m sure there’s some spell we can try to let us come after you. I’m going to call Rowena and see what she knows.”

            “Sam, I think we lean on that woman too much…”

            “Nonsense, Rowena’s great!” Gabriel says. He’s sitting up now with a handful of sweetly-coated cold pills and a bottle of pink lemonade. When had he moved to get that?

            I glare at him and he winks, tossing the medicine in his mouth and doing that odd thing he does—he sucks on them, like candy, before he chases them down with the lemonade. “If you would just swallow them, you wouldn’t get a chance to complain about their taste, and we could try other medicine that might work better.”

            “The yucky ones leave residue on my tongue even if I do swallow them fast.” Gabriel winces and puts the lemonade on the bed stand, then rubs his throat. “Germs and their bad timing.” He scoots back on the bed, resting against the quilted headboard. “I think it was that group that went after the ghouls. They came back all sniffly and glassy eyed.” He mutters under his breath in Ancient Greek.

            “Does he have a fever?” Sam asks.

            “Low-grade, “I say. “But I don’t believe he’ll breathe his last today.”

            Gabriel snorts, which makes him cough and choke out ancient curses I haven’t heard in centuries.

            “Promise me you won’t go anywhere,” Sam says. His voice is grave and firm. What happened with the girl and the weapon must have unnerved him badly.

            A pang of anxiety throbs in my chest at the thought of postponing Heaven. It’s as if any moment angels could fall from the sky and billions of human souls will crash into the veil or break through and drop to Earth. I don’t want to wait now that we’re only fifteen minutes away from the Gate. But will putting off entering for a day or so really be that bad?

            Gabriel’s not well, and Sam is right, he’s my back up. I could at least wait to see if the medicine he just took will kick in, and make him more alert.

            “We’ll wait for you,” I say.

            “Thanks. We’ll drive fast. I’m going to go tell Dean and I’ll text when we’re on the road. Be safe, Cass, and… take care of Gabe.”

            He doesn’t have to tell me that. I hang up and turn to see Gabriel staring at me.

            “We’re really going to wait?” 

            I shrug. “Sam makes good points.”

            Gabriel frowns and pulls a pillow to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

            “For what?”

            He sighs, not looking at me anymore. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Pass me the remote? The guy at the desk said they have the good cable channels.” Impish glee dawns on his face as he grabs a channel guide off the bed stand, nearly knocking over his lemonade.

            I stare at him, wondering what he could be so excited about, and then he cackles, and television comes on, flipping to a channel featuring…

            “Gabriel! We are fifteen minutes away from Heaven! Show some respect!”

 

* * *

 

~*~

 

            “Wake up, wake up.” I shake him at the opening symptoms of a nightmare. At the first toss, I was by his bedside, watching to see if he’d do it again. He did. “Gabriel, wake up.”

            And hopefully he’ll rouse before he’s worked up enough to start—I grab the blazing pillow tossing it on the floor and beating out the flames with my coat. Gabriel sits up in bed, panting and gripping his covers. I remove my jacket, frowning at the pillow. The pillow case is burned black and brown with a hole in its center revealing fluffy stuffing. I wonder how much it will cost to replace. In any case, I’ll throw it out, so that we won’t also be charged for smoking in the room, because how else could the damage be explained?

            “Are you all right?” I ask, toeing the pillow, making sure the fire is completely out.

            “Castiel, we can’t wait for Sam and Dean.” Gabriel’s ashen and trembling, sweat trickling down his brow. He scrambles out of bed, going to his duffle. “We have to go now, and I have to go up with you. Cye needs me. I don’t—I don’t care what the angels up there will think about me. Don’t care that…” He sits down hard on the floor and puts his head in his hands. “What does it look like? Heaven? Has it changed much? My tower, the gardens…”

            “The gardens bloom. They are in excellent care,” I say, coming over to him and placing my hands on both his quivering shoulders. His tower—Gabriel’s rooms. Raphael and Michael had closed that tower, none have been in them since I’ve been gone. Maybe none but Raphael and Michael themselves. I don’t know what state the rooms are in, but “Your tower stands.”

            “And the other towers? Raphael’s, Michael’s… Lucifer’s?”

            I tilt my head, not knowing what he wants to hear. Michael and Raphael’s towers stand as well. Lucifer’s, however, was destroyed, long, long ago. After the war. Michael had it torn down. The ground is barren and ugly, to remind us of the evil that had once lived there.”

            Gabriel shudders. “The offices, Dad’s throne room?”

            “Modernized and efficient,” I say. “You…” I understand his sadness. “You won’t recognize it.”

            “That could be a good thing,” Gabriel whispers. “If it’s different, it won’t stir so many memories.”

            Or maybe you’ll grieve more over what you lost because there’s nothing there to mark that it ever was. “You should stay here, as we planned. I will go to…”

            “Cye doesn’t know you,” Gabriel says. He strips out of his sweaty clothes and pulls fresh ones out of his bag. He dresses in a hurry and gets to his feet. “I’ll drive if you won’t.”

            His eyes are shadowed and full of grief, but his jaw is set. He’s determined to go, now. I touch his forehead, not liking the heat that greets my hand. The more power he expends, the harder it is for him to fight off infection. But if going to Heaven will ease this current run of nightmares, it will help him.

            “I’ll drive,” I say. “You, put on another layer and then your coat, and take more medicine. I don’t know when we’ll be back.”

            I prepare a text message for Sam and Dean that I won’t send until we pass through the Gate, as I wait for Gabriel to finish getting his layers on. He even decides to brush his teeth and wash his face. I blink at him. The clothes he wears are nice, sophisticated, and his vessel’s long hair is unbound and free of tangles. He dressed up for Heaven, like a student ready for an Ivy-league college interview with the dean—scared to death, but ready for heavy interrogation and judgment.

            He frowns at my scrutiny. “Can we go?”

            After a beat, I nod, opening the door and nodding for him to follow. I wish there was a way to call ahead, to Heaven, to know what we might find. Maybe the lights will be off, maybe the walls won’t gleam, but it won’t be the stuff of nightmares… or maybe it will. I want to prepare him for the worst, but hope for the best.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel

 

            The drive to the playground is quick. I lead Gabriel to the jungle gym.

            “Why did you all put the Gate here?” Gabriel says, seeming amused. “Do we get to climb the jungle gym or go down a slide?”

            “We pass through the bars,” I say. Looking around for the guard. “Indra?” He was not in very good shape when I’d seen him last, and he may have been recalled to Heaven to give it more power.

            “Indra?” Gabriel asks, voice warm. “He was fun. He’s guarding the Gate?”

            “I’m not sure. Indra?”

            “Again?”

            I blink as Indra’s voice drifts through the walls of a tree house above our heads. His head pops over the walls. “You don’t give up, do you Castie…” He trails off, eyes going wide. He jumps over the walls of the tree house, hitting the ground with a heavy thud as he makes his way over. “G-Gabriel.”

            “Hey, Indra!” Gabriel seems cheerful. “What’s in the sack?”

            “What? Oh—uh…” Indra looks guiltily at his brown paper sack, which I suspect contains liquor. “I was just—uh…”

            “It gets boring out here, right?” Gabriel says. “Totally understand. Just hope it’s not the cheap stuff.”

            “Uh—uh—nah. It’s good. You, uh, you wouldn’t want some, would you? I mean…” He scratches the back of his neck, staring at Gabriel in awe. “Never mind—never mind! You need to get into Heaven. Go ahead, go on. You don’t even have to ask. Uh, you want me to—to herald you or anything. I can herald.”

            “We’re okay,” I say. “But Indra, how are things up there?”

            Indra tears his gaze away from Gabriel to look at me. His expression is solemn. “Not any better than when you were here the last time.”

            “But not worse?” I ask.

            Indra narrows his eyes. “No. Why?”

            I glance at Gabriel, who’s looking beyond us, at the jungle gym. “I’m going ahead.”

            “Oh.” I fall in behind Gabriel as he makes his way to the jungle gym. Indra calls after us, “Are you sure you don’t want any heralding? I haven’t done it in ages, but I bet I’m still good at it.”

            We pass through the Gate and step into the great white halls of Heaven. Gabriel gasps as he slowly turns around, taking it in.

            “This is…”

            “I told you it’s been modernized. We thought…”

            I’m not prepared for the devastation on Gabriel’s face.

            “Raphael and Michael supervised the updates,” I say.

            Gabriel nods, mouth a straight line. “Looks… nice.” He sounds distant and polite. The overhead lights flicker and he looks up. “That’s…”

            “Heaven dying,” I say, then frown. “It was like this when I left it last. But with you here, it should be different.” Heaven needs an archangel’s grace, but…

            “I’m not strong enough to help,” Gabriel says.

            Sadness courses through me. His grace isn’t enough, and he’s our last archangel.

            Gabriel bows his head. “I need to find Cye. I’m going to go on.”

            “Gabriel!”

            We both turn at the sound of Duma’s voice. She’s trailed by Naomi. Their bright smiles are genuine, until the lights flicker again. Naomi stalks up to us, staring at Gabriel. “Wh-what’s happened to you?”

            Duma follows more slowly, seeming dazed. She looks up at the dim lights and then at Gabriel in confusion.

            Gabriel shrugs. “Good to see you both too.”

            “What happened to your grace?” Naomi demands.

            “Leeched,” Gabriel says, “by a demon, for nearly a thousand years in Hell. It grows, but slowly.”

            Duma gasps and puts a hand over her mouth, staring at Gabriel in horror, while Naomi paces. “No, no, you were supposed to be our salvation. Heaven cannot wait for your grace to restore itself.” 

            Duma stares as Naomi continues to pace unaffected.

            “Are you all right?” Duma asks Gabriel.

            Gabriel shrugs. “Define ‘all right’; and I’ll probably tell you I’m not. But thanks for asking. Nice to know _someone_ cares.”

            Naomi whirls on Gabriel. “Heaven is doomed, and you… you don’t seem concerned. But then, what do you care about Heaven? What have you ever cared about Heaven?” Her voice soars and stops, choked in her throat as Gabriel’s eyes flash a deep blue. Naomi grabs her throat, eyes wide.

            “Don’t ever question how much I care,” Gabriel says, voice silky and dangerous. The overhead lights brighten, steadying for a moment, before it’s lost. Gabriel’s eyes return to their normal color and Naomi gasps for air.

            “S-s-sorry. I apologize,” she stammers.

            “The souls?” Gabriel asks. “Are the souls here okay? My—I was called by a distressed soul. He says his personal Heaven is in danger.”

            “The zones are shrinking as Heaven loses power,” Duma says. “Some souls have ended up sharing space, their Heavens merging. We try to fix it when we notice, but we’re low on angel grace.”

            Gabriel runs a hand through his hair. “Right. Okay. Think. What are our alternatives?”

            “There are none,” Naomi says. “We can’t make more angels and there are no other archangels that can be trusted to have Heaven’s best interest in mind.”

            “You’ve thought about asking that Other Michael for help?” Gabriel asks, narrowing his eyes. “That monster?”

            “Heaven would survive.”

            Gabriel growls. “Not with that thing up here. Y-you even let Lucifer run Heaven.”

            “We are desperate!” Naomi says.

            “You’ve recalled all the angels from Earth, scrounged up all the fallen and brought them through the gate?” Gabriel asks.

            “There are some fallen we cannot locate,” Duma says.

            “Okay, so we work harder to find them. And they won’t have a choice; they need to come back until we figure something more permanent out.”

            “And you and Castiel will stay, of course?” Naomi asks, brow raised.

            “Yeah,” Gabriel says. “I’ll stay.” He looks at me.

            Sam and Dean and Jack. I sent off the text letting them know I’d come to Heaven, so… “I can stay for a while too, until we do as Gabriel says.”

            “And what makes you think we can find a more permanent way, aside from closing Heaven so that no more angels can leave it?” Naomi asks. “You don’t think we haven’t been looking for solutions?”

            “I expect that you have,” Gabriel says. “But you haven’t found one, so here we are. Uh…” He scratches his head and looks around. “Is there a place to sit and talk? I don’t…”

            …know this place anymore. He doesn’t have to say it.

            Naomi nods and leads us to her office. Gabriel sneers at its white walls and furniture. “Was it Michael that decided on this monochrome motif? Because Raphael was partial to pastels…”

            “The color is clean and pure,” Naomi says.

            “The color is boring,” Gabriel drawls. He plops down on a white armchair. “But this thing sure is comfy.”

            Naomi scowls at him but says nothing. Duma sits in a chair across from Gabriel, studying him, the awe on her face mirrors Indra’s. I have to remind myself that, unlike me, it’s been epochs since they’ve laid on eyes on Gabriel. He leans his head back, eyes closed, lashes fluttering.

            There’s no noise as we watch him, our final archangel, either taking a nap or formulating a plan. Knowing him as I do, he really could be napping. After a few minutes, he sits up straight, peering at Naomi.

            “We need more angels.”

            “Yes.” Naomi sounds exasperated. “We know this.”

            “But the only one who can make angels is God,” Gabriel says slowly.

            “Yes.” Naomi stares at Gabriel, as does Duma and myself. He’s stating the obvious, but there must be a reason.

            “We have to summon Him here, then,” Gabriel says, rubbing his chin. “He has to create more. That’s… that’s it.”

            “So, then we’re doomed,” Duma says. “Heaven will die. The souls will fall to Earth.”

            Gabriel is quiet as Duma continues to lament and Naomi massages her temples. I keep my eyes on Gabriel, he’s still thinking.

            “We can call Him,” Gabriel says softly, almost absently. “There should be a spell that reaches Him wherever He is. He spoke about having one created, and I remember asking Him why. Was He planning on traveling too far away for one of us to get to him should we need something? And He told us it was to ensure that we could call Him when he ventured to the Empty. But He also said it’d be a one-time deal, so we’d have to use it with caution. I’m sure the spell was made, but I’m guessing it’s never been used?”

            “A spell,” I murmur. “To summon God? I searched everywhere for God. If there was a spell, I would have found it.” Hopelessness starts to surface. If a spell is Gabriel’s only suggestion after much thought…

            “There is no spell. All of Metatron’s writings have been scoured,” Naomi says. “If there was a spell to summon God—”

            “It wouldn’t be in Metatron’s writings,” Gabriel says. He looks at us, eyes gleaming. “He’d have asked Raphael to record it.”

            “Metatron was the Scribe of God.”

            “Yes, Metatron had an occupation,” Gabriel says, a little haughtiness dripping from his tone—and that arrogance is what I remember most about archangels when they were all here. The degrees of separation went beyond power levels and favoritism. They also believed they were better, or at least, that is what they showed us. “A designated status based on his job. Raphael wrote by choice and passion.”

            “Raphael had…passion?” Duma asks. “I…” She frowns, seeming puzzled.

            “You’ve never seen him write or sketch?” Gabriel asks. “He would wander his tower in search of writing tools and I’d find him in the strangest places sometimes. He designed the towers and Dad created them. His poetry is on the walls.” He tilts his head as all of us stare at him.

            None of us had known that Raphael.

            The devastation comes back into Gabriel’s eyes and he looks away. “The spell would be in Raphael’s writings. But since you don’t seem to know about them, I’m guessing his works will not easily be found.”

            “Or they could be in his tower. None of us go there,” Duma says. “We don’t go to any of the archangel towers.”

            Gabriel pushes to his feet. “Then we search Rapahel’s tower, starting with the library.”

            Looks of trepidation cross Naomi and Duma’s faces. “We are forbidden.”

            Gabriel cocks his head. “Raphael’s dead.”

            “What was decreed still stands. We cannot enter an archangel’s private space without their permission. We burn. It’s happened.”

            Gabriel blinks. “Whoa. I mean, geez.” He runs a hand through his hair slowly, scratching his head as he does it. “My brothers set that up?”

            “It was to prevent more thievery,” Naomi says softly, she frowns at Gabriel’s sharp look. “There were dark times following God’s departure. There were angels who were inspired by Lucifer, some who changed. Michael and Raphael set protections and closed the Heaven for a short period while we re-structured. When the Gates were re-opened, they searched for you. They—I believe they thought you were dead and so they returned and never spoke of you again.”

            Gabriel swallows, blanching. “I was thorough.”

            Naomi’s face is cold. “That you were. And now that you’re…” She motions to him, her gaze slightly disgusted. “You’ve come back, and you’re of no use.”

            Gabriel’s eyes narrow as the air around his body stirs, moving his hair and rustling his clothes. Lightning crackles between his fingers. “Careful, Naomi,” he purrs. “I may be weak, but I can still smite you.”

            Naomi pales, looking away. “Forgive me.”

            “Only God forgives,” Gabriel says. “Not Him. So, watch your mouth.”

            I marvel at the Gabriel in front of me. The archangel’s face is serious, eyes cool as they rest on Naomi. If I didn’t know him better, I might believe that he’d kill her. But what’s important is that Naomi does not know him better, and after all she’s done, she deserves to be afraid.

            “Lead me to the pathways, after that, I know the way,” Gabriel says, voice commanding. He waits for Duma to rush out in front of him, and follows her. I fall into step beside him, glancing at his profile, looking for any signs that he’s tiring. For all his show, he’s not well, and all these mini displays of power have to be taking their toll. But Gabriel walks with his back straight, chin up, eyes forward, like a lord—like an archangel.

            Once outside of the office complex, Duma leads us to the East Garden, and then Gabriel outstrips her, taking twists and turns that lead us to the side-by-side towers of the archangels Raphael and Gabriel. Michael’s tower is closer to the South Garden. Gabriel studies his tower, his cold mask breaking to reveal a longing to go in, but he turns his head in the direction of Raphael’s tower and ventures to it.

            Duma, Naomi and I follow as closely as we dare, but stop before the doorway, watching as Gabriel passes through unhindered. He stops at a wall and produces his archangel blade from one of his pockets. I didn’t know he’d brought it with him. He touches the metal to a mark on the wall, just as he’d done in Apocalypse World, to burn the wards that had weakened me. The air steams and sizzles around us.

            “It’s safe. Come in,” Gabriel calls. He walks on and we follow, entering the forbidden territory of the archangel Raphael.

            And it’s beautiful.

            The walls are golden where they aren’t covered with moving art. Waterfalls, the stars, the seas full of colorful fishes, and the words engraved speak of the beauty and wonder of Creation. I hear several gasps as Naomi and Duma see what I do. We are slow to ascend the stairway Gabriel’s already disappeared beyond.

            “This belonged to Raphael?” Duma whispers, touching a colorful painting of a rainbow fish.

            “To a Raphael we did not know,” I breathe.

            “He rarely entered this tower after God left,” Naomi says with a sigh, running her fingers over a poem. It’s strange to see her so affected.

            We reach the top of the stairs to be basked in light from wall to ceiling window portals that display worlds made of jungle and garden and clouds.

            “We ventured to these places,” Gabriel says. “They were fun to explore. Dad cultivated them all, experimenting. Successes he brought to Earth. He used to sit with me, giving me lessons on creating pocket dimensions. I was better at it than the others.” He smiles, touching a window that leads to the clouds. “This one is the best. This is the human fantasy of Heaven, because Raphael and I brought our bloodlines here and let them walk there. They spread the word: Be good and you too can cloud-surf.”

            He moves on and pushes open the door to an immense library of scrolls. He pulls the curtains to let light from the East Garden flood in and takes the chair at a huge desk covered in papyrus. “He kept his finished works in this room. In no order. _He_ knew where everything was, though. This…” Gabriel gazes around at the ceiling to floor book cases stuffed with scrolls, “…might take a while.”


	8. Chapter 8

Gabriel

 

            I had to get out of there.

            I don’t feel bad for leaving the remaining angel brigade to the task of searching Raphael’s library. I do feel guilty about leaving Castiel to it too, though. But he didn’t seem to mind; he waved me on when I said I needed a breather. Maybe he thinks I feel like roadkill and need a break. He thinks right—but it’s not the only reason why.

            The double doors to my tower open at my touch. As I pass through, wind rustles my hair—a ward dispersing at my entrance. A subtle hint of Michael ghosts over my skin. He’d set this ward? Meaning he was the last to enter my rooms. What had he wanted in here? He hardly ever came to me back in the day. He had me summoned… or sent Raphael to drag me to wherever he was. Michael never could take a joke.

            Portraits of previous vessels adorn the walls. I smile at Allysiah and Minu, Cye’s mother and grandmother. Such beautiful humans with loving hearts, no one was hungry when they could feed them, no one cold when they had blankets. Raphael had painted each portrait from memory after I introduced him to my vessels. I stop before I reach the stairs with a gasp…

            There’s one of Cye.

            I stand in front of the looming portrait of Cye in his tunic and sandals playing my flute. My brother painted this after I left for good. I touch the cool paint, searching for any energy Raphael may have left behind. What was he thinking when he—

            A light swirl of energy—sad and lonely—pulses against my fingertips. I close my eyes.

 

            _Michael says that we cannot travel to The Empty to search for you._

_We have nowhere else to look._

_Father has abandoned us._

_Lucifer is locked away._

_There’s no one left but us to carry on what Father left._

_Michael’s too quiet. He has no love for art or music._

_Come back, brother._

_It is all over. You can return now._

_Please._

Raphael’s voice, his true voice, the one made of light and air, whispers. I shiver as his utter hopelessness trickles through me. My brother. My eyes burn as tears brim the lids. I rub at them with the heels of my palms. Tears are no good, useless, because they don’t change anything. I abandoned my brother. No, I didn’t think Dad would leave too, but He had, and Raphael had been left with Michael and a job he wasn’t made to do. And he became the being that Castiel, Duma and Naomi knew. The one who wanted another apocalypse, the one who didn’t write or paint. One who hurt his vessels and left without healing them.

            Would that brother have welcomed me back?

            I step away from the painting of Cye and travel up the stairwell that opens into my sitting room, full of open windows with views of the garden, and a portal to the stars—the ones Lucifer had wanted to travel to.

            In the church, he said he’d wanted to see stars. But he’d never shown in any interest in visiting the stars before. He’d laughed at Raphael and I for venturing there, a place where we’d have no bodies or shapes. He hadn’t liked it because it was a place where angels were powerless. The only one who could work magic there was Dad. We were bystanders, watching new creation in its earliest of stages. There was a lot to learn.

            It might have been nice to go there again—with Lucifer.

            Hurt flares in my chest. But had he really wanted to go, with me, with Jack? Or was he just luring us away to get what he wanted. He might have turned on us at any moment—or just on Jack. Maybe not me. He…

            I laugh, hard, until the pain brings me to my knees. God. After all the crap he’s pulled, all the evil he’s done, the way he hurt Jack and Heaven and our family, I want him to mean that he wanted me with him. And not just to leech my power or make me a puppet servant. He loved me; he said it.

            I slowly clamber to my feet, gazing around. The Roman style room is just as I left it, messy, human clothes and fabrics strewn about. I step on a tambourine, picking it up and examining it. Now, when and where had I picked this one up...

            A light shines from one the room’s two alcoves. I drift in its direction and freeze. The small nook is candlelit by wall scones and full of pedestals with red pillows. On each respective pillow sit flutes, small drums and bells, and different shapes and manners of horns. On the walls hang lutes, harps, and guitars, on wooden stands sit clarinets and saxophones. These instruments. I step into the room, running my hands over them. Some are very old, some ones I collected before I left, others are newer, much newer.

            Who had… residual energy brushes my skin and I choke in a sob—Michael.

            Michael had done this. He’d even gotten me horns. He hated horns.

            Oh God.

            I sit down on the floor again as the grief doubles me over. I can’t stop the tears that wrack me. My sobs are loud and ugly. What did I do? What did I do to my family? I hurt them, they missed me, wanted me back. Raphael transformed into a monster, Michael…

            I don’t know if Michael changed, but he was here, in this tower, over the years, even after he thought I was dead, putting instruments here. Placing them with care. Had he known I was alive and been hoping I’d come back, or was he just keeping my memory alive? I’ll never know.

            I ripped the family apart too. Me, Lucifer, Dad, we destroyed Heaven.

            I curl up on the floor, trying to focus on breathing through my tears. It’s hard, when you’re practically human, to cry and breathe at the same time, especially when you’re sick. I choke myself several times and almost throw up from coughing so hard. I push myself up, breathing through my mouth and swallowing back snot—disgusting.

            Pathetic. But I’d been getting better. I just… I wipe my eyes and look back at the instruments—my instruments. I rise to my feet, reaching out to a guitar—a Spanish guitar with catgut strings. I’d played one of these years and years ago. I head to one of my windows, bringing the guitar with me. I perch on the window sill—old memories of me sitting here in different vessels run through my mind as I strum random melodies and stare out into the garden.

            I feel Michael in the strings that I play. He’d been the last to touch this instrument.

            His voice whispers:

_You are beautiful, and he would love you._

_I wish that he could hear me…_

_Father, if you could make it so my brother could hear me…_

_I want to tell him._

_Tell him…_

_Please return._

 

          I play faster, more furious tune, rocking back and forth as Michael’s words fade. I don’t have to wonder if Raphael and Michael loved me. They did. I know they did. Never questioned it, ever. And I did this to them. Dad shouldn’t have let me leave. He should have shaken sense into me. He should have shown me what my leaving would do to the family. Nothing gained, everything lost: Michael, Raphael, Dad… and even Lucifer.

          It’s never nighttime in the gardens. The sun stays in the same place in the sky, so I don’t know or care how much time has passed. In Heaven, I don’t need food or sleep, not really. I play and play, switching instruments every few hours to touch Michael’s energy again. New thoughts come with each flute or clarinet or trumpet.

 

 _I would listen to this horn_ _for all eternity, if it would bring you back._

_I know you are not dead, Brother. But my prayers do not reach you._

_Father will not help._

          I’m tuning a mandolin when Castiel comes in.

          “Gabriel?”

          I don’t stop.

          “We think we’ve found something.”

          I blink, fingers pausing on the strings. I glance up at him, blinking to see him directly in front of me. His blue eyes are wide with concern, his mouth set in a deep frown. His jaw works, like he wants to say several different things, before he settles on one.

          “Are you all right?”

          Angels shouldn’t lie in Heaven. “No.”

          “You look…” Castiel reaches out, hand going to my forehead. His brows shoot up. “Heaven isn’t healing you.”

          "Don’t deserve to be healed,” I murmur.

          “What’s happened?” he asks gently. He takes the mandolin from me, setting it down on one of the pillowed pedestals and taking one of my hands, turning it over to stare at my fingers—blistered, bleeding. I don’t feel the pain.

          I shake my head and gesture around. “Nothing I didn’t know. I abandoned my family. My brothers loved and needed me, and now they’re dead. End of story.”

          Castiel continues to stare at my hands, then his gaze roves around my rooms. He’s never been here, hasn’t ever seen this side of me. I watch him taking in the interior and all the instruments so lovingly placed. He takes in my view of the garden, my portal to the stars, then goes full-on petting zoo with my instruments. It’s like he doesn’t know what to say—I smirk.

          “You were… a musician,” he finally says. “You played more than the horn. I remember a few other instruments, but the horn is what really stuck out. Your playing of that was…”

            “Purposefully awful,” I offer. “It brought me joy to aggravate Michael. It was the ultimate victory to me then. To get him to react, to acknowledge me. I wasn’t… I didn’t do things that were of interest to him, and so he ignored me until I did silly things to get his attention. He never appreciated any of it, but hey, he noticed me.”

            “Michael was single-minded,” Castiel says. “He had his objectives and…”

            “I know,” I say. “It’s why Dad loved him. But I loved him too, and I was sure he loved me, but I wanted him to show it, to see me.” I join Castiel, picking up a twelfth century horn, then a thirteenth century one. “A lot of these instruments are new to me, meaning they got here after I left. This alcove was not set up like this before. A few of these are twenty-first century pieces, Cass, and they all feel like my brother—like Michael.”

           Castiel stiffens in surprise, turning to face me as I set down a trumpet.

          “There are new paintings here, too,” I say. “There’s one of Cye and a few others—Raphael was here after I left too, though not as recently as Michael, I don’t think. His last painting had a sixteenth century style to it.”

          “They grieved me,” I murmur, “for centuries upon centuries, while I was living it up as Loki.”

          Castiel puts a hand on my shoulder. “Gabriel, I won’t pretend that your return wouldn’t have been greatly needed. Many of us mourned your loss, but a few of us understood your choice. You said God understood.”

            I nod. “But what kept me away after it was over, Cass? After Lucifer was locked up, I could have come back. But I didn’t want their judgment. I was too ashamed and afraid to see and know what they would think of me, coming back after they fought. It—Lucifer was their brother too. It had to have killed them to put him away that first time, but they stayed and did it. They were brave, and then they suffered for it. I…”

          …deserved Hell and torture; I deserve mortal suffering.

          “This is penance,” I say, holding out my bloody hands. “One thousand years in Hell, a thousand more to languish, and to stand here, soaking in the grief of my dead brothers. May I never recover.” I accept this punishment completely.

          “No, Gabriel,” Castiel says, he puts his other hand on my other shoulder, making me look up at him. “You’ve suffered enough, and believe me when I say that no one who cares or ever cared about you wants you to suffer. Yes, maybe we were angry, but anger fades. You didn’t deserve what Asmodeus did to you, you don’t deserve to suffer physical and mental affects for it now, and… you need to grieve Michael and Raphael as much as they grieved you. You do deserve that. If you need more time to yourself…”

          “How long has it been?” My voice is hoarse. Castiel’s words bounce off me. I’ve suffered enough—never.

          “Days,” Castiel says. “We’ve inspected every book, every wall space, and we found what looks to be music, a song—written for you.”

          “In Raphael’s library?” And what does a song for me have to do with anything?

          “The song is titled _Father Listen for You_ … and it was written before God left.” 

          My body goes cold. “What?”

          “The music is to be played on a horn, but not just any horn.”

          “The Horn of Gabriel,” I murmur.

          “We think it may be the spell to summon God. Maybe He’s made it so that He can hear that particular song played by that particular instrument—by you. Because…”  
 

          “No other supernatural being can play that horn without disintegrating,” I say, swallowing thickly.

          “And, you’re the only archangel He didn’t talk to before He went away,” Castiel says. “Maybe He wanted you to have a way to get out of trouble if you should need to.”

          It… I swallow. “He always smoothed things over for me.” Because I was a terrible brother who needed my selfish actions explained away. Castiel nods. “But…”

          Castiel tilts his head. “But?”

          “No one’s seen that horn in centuries.”

          “But we know it’s on Earth. We’ve hunted down rarer things in the past,” Castiel says. “We can do it again. Of that, I have no doubt. If this song is what we think it is, then, Gabriel,” Castiel gives a smile that almost breaks through my gloom, “we can save Heaven.”

          Save Heaven. An empty, grief-filled Heaven—for Cye. For Cye, and Minu, Allysiah, Farhad, Feroze, Cyrus, Salome, Yasmin, Esther, Darius…

          “Yes,” I say, ‘yes’ for them.

          “We’ve summoned more angels from Earth. Told them of Heaven’s plight and several have returned. It’s enough for us to be able to leave and search for the horn.”

          “Leave?” I ask, startled. “I said I’d stay.”

          “Heaven can run without your grace for now,” Castiel says.

          Nice—he could have said that the addition of my grace doesn’t make much difference anyway.

          “What it can’t run without is help from God,” Castiel says. “And the only way we can get it is to go back to Earth. We’ll need your help in locating the horn. Do you…?”

          “Have a connection to it?” I ask. I frown, reaching out to caress the pillow my old bone flute lays on. The last time I’d touched it had been the day I left. I feel the lingering energy from that young angel, so stupid and selfish, but full of passion and vigor. “I leave a piece of myself in every thing I love. I loved that horn once. If it’s near, you can use me to douse for it.”

          “I was hoping you’d say that,” Castiel says. He squeezes my shoulders and then—then he drags me in for a hug that I don’t know I need. My head falls on his shoulder and I sob, again. My well of tears is bottomless, I guess.

            Castiel pats my back and pulls away, face a mask of empathy I didn’t know angels could express. “You are feverish and being here does you no good, brother. I do not want to see you as ill as you were when Lucifer died. That… I was afraid for you. Let’s go, and after you rest, we’ll begin the search for your horn.”

            “The song,” I say. “Should we take it with us? So that…” I don’t have to come back here to play it? If we even find the horn, that is.

            Castiel pats my back again, and nods. “I’ll collect it from Duma, if you’d like to wait here for me to return?”

            I nod and Castiel leaves after giving me one last reassuring pat on the arm. I wipe snot off my face and realize that I don’t want to look a hot mess when I leave Heaven. I don’t want those other angels to see me like this. Angels don’t bathe, but we like water. Father liked water. There’s a fountain in the foyer. I ready myself to leave the sitting room, but the glint of my bone flute catches my eye.

            I take it in my hand, feeling Michael and… Raphael? He’s there too, earlier than Michael, but…

 

            _I wish to hear that beautiful song again, brother._

I tuck the flute in the pocket of my jeans and head for the fountain.

            I’ll write you another song, Raphael, even better than the first, in apology for being the world’s worst little brother.

            I’m sorry.

            And please, never forgive me.


	9. Chapter 9

 

Sam

             I want to yell at Cass and Gabriel. They lied to us, said they’d wait for us, before running off to Heaven. Not only did they ditch us, Cass left a voice mail to explain why! He couldn’t even wait to call again, to give me a chance to answer the phone and talk to him--or better yet, give me a chance to return the call. And now they’re back, with a new mission that has nothing to do with helping us find Michael, and Gabriel seems worse than he’s been in weeks. He smiles and makes jokes, but they’re lackluster, soulless. He stares off into space, hardly sleeps and can’t eat. He claims he’s just sick, and I buy that, but something rattled him in Heaven that he won’t talk about, not even with Dean. And he avoids Mia. Castiel knows the full deal, but he won’t share.

            So, Dean and I split up, him following more spear and Michael-leads, while I help Castiel and Gabriel hunt down a biblical horn.

            “The horn has changed hands so many times over the centuries,” Rowena’s Scottish brogue is thicker when she’s tired, but she’s still searching. She claims it’s security; if she keeps scratching our backs, we’ll look after her. And that’s fine, if she gets into trouble, I’ll go help her if I can—so long as the trouble didn’t come from her being in the moral wrong or anything.

            “How is your archangel?” she asks after a beat.

            “Not so good,” I say.

            “Hm, a shame,” Rowena says. “I like that one.”

            “You talk like you think he’s dying,” I say. “He’s immortal.”

            “Meaning he cannot die from mortal causes,” Rowena says. “But beings, such as he, have been known to wither from loneliness or grief, or just being forgotten about.”

            I sigh. Like elves in _Lord of the Rings_ fade as a result of great sadness, I feel like I’m watching Gabriel do the same. “He was better. So much better. But…we’ll fix him again.”

            “Good,” Rowena says, sounding cheerful. “He’s cute, and we may have some un-started business to attend to in the future.”

            I shudder at the purr in her tone. I do not want to be a part of the conversation anymore. “Thanks for all your help, Rowena.”

            “You’re welcome, Sam. I will keep you posted on anything else I find or hear.”

            She hangs up and I check my e-mail for any news. I sent out so many queries. My inbox is loaded with responses, most of them clueless, most of them with about as much information as Rowena had. The horn’s been passed around, private auctions, private collectors, thieves, black market, and it’s been nearly half a century since it’s been seen at all.

            My head pounds as I continue to scroll through e-mails, checking subject headings and time stamps. No. No. No. No. No.

            “Your mom says dinner is ready and she wants to watch you eat.”

            I jump, head snapping to Gabriel. My vision blurs for a minute, eyes tired from looking at screens too long. “I’ll be there in a bit.” I sigh. Not feeling hungry at all.

            Gabriel sits in the chair next to mine, gazing at the laptop screen. “Thinking about implants?”

            “What?” I look at the computer screen, groaning at the pop-up ad and closing it out.

            “No need for shame, Sammy. Everyone wants a little of what they don’t have…or in your case…”

            “Ugh, stop it,” I grumble. “I’m looking through e-mails. I got like 50 new ones in the past hour.”

            “I can look at them, and you can have dinner,” Gabriel says.

            “Did _you_ have dinner?” I raise a brow at him, taking in his gaunt appearance.

            “PBJ, no crusts, extra jam, and chocolate chips in the peanut butter,” he says easily. “Your mom’s great.”

            “Good. How are you feeling?”

            “Shredded and canned, like tuna fish. The kind that’s definitely chicken, not fish. Oh wait, I didn’t say that right, did I?” He grins at me, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. None of his latest smiles ever do. “None of the cold medicine is working anymore.”

            I touch his warm forehead and frown at him. I want to help, but I feel helpless. “Gabe, what happened in Heaven? What’s wrong? You were doing so well.”

            Gabriel shrugs. “Discovered what a big trash bag I am—and not even a nice trash bag, but one of the ones that break when the bag gets stretched, and spills trash everywhere. I’m not even scented. Just a cheap, dollar store trash bag.”

            “Why are you a trash bag?” Months of living with Gabriel has taught me a patience I’ve never known.

            “Because I should be thrown out. Don’t even try to put garbage in me. I won’t do the job. Go and buy the heavy-duty bags with the special handles and spring-time fragrance. The ones that actually fit in your trash can. I mean, you get what you pay for, but they really wasted money on me, you know?”

            “No, I don’t know,” I say. “Stop talking in metaphor.”

            “It’s all you’re gonna get,” Gabriel murmurs. “I don’t want to talk about it, Sammy. Makes me wanna slit my wrists—and then I get even more depressed because if I slit my wrists I’ll just make a mess that I’ll have to clean by hand because I can’t waste grace.” A dimple appears to go along with his fake smile.

            He fiddles with something in the front pocket of his over-large sweatshirt—or rather my sweatshirt. It’s probably that little flute of his. He carries it around, rubbing it or just seeming to need to touch it to be sure it’s still there.

            Time to change the subject.

            “Did you bring that back from Heaven?” Because I’ve never seen him with it before, and it looks old.

            Gabriel pulls his hand out of his pocket and sighs, leaning back and looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah.”

            “You any good on it?”

            “I’m good at most instruments, Sam,” Gabriel says flatly.

            “Hey, hey, chill,” I say. “It was just a question. I’ve never heard you play it. Can you… play something… now?”

            Gabriel’s eyes widen. “I…” He trails off as he pulls the flute out, turning it over in his hands. “You would think the music is boring.”

            “Try me,” I say. I won’t think anything that comes out of that flute is boring. I’m too damned curious to know if he’s full of crap when he says he plays instruments well.

            He hesitates, shifting around, studying the instrument in his hands, before blinking at me, shadowed eyes glimmering in the overhead light. Grief. I’ve upset him.

            “Gabe, I’m sorry. Forget I asked. Um, look I’ll head to dinner if you come with—”

            Slow, wistful notes, laden with vibrato flow out of the instrument. The tune is nothing I’ve heard before; it’s a song that sounds afraid to be too hopeful, to want too much, because the world could shatter. I almost stop breathing as he plays it’s so pretty and sad. Notes thrill and run then merge back into the legato melody of the composition.

            Gabriel’s eyes are closed as he plays, swaying in time with the music he makes. I can almost see a halo above his head; he’s being a stereotypical angel, playing heavenly music. He just needs a cloud. Jack steps into the room, coming to stand behind Gabriel’s chair, staring down at him, then at me. He’d come in like he’d had something to tell me, but that demeanor is gone as he smiles, practically glowing with appreciation. He’s content to keep standing behind Gabriel, but I motion to the chair on the other side of me. Jack nods and starts to move, when the music stops abruptly, Gabriel pulling the flute away from his lips to cough into the thick sleeve of my sweatshirt.

            Jack’s smile falls as he pats his uncle’s back.

            I grab my water bottle and push it toward Gabriel. “Here.”

            Gabriel hacks and rattles a minute more, before snatching my water bottle and taking a cautious swig. He leans back, catching his breath, clutching my water bottle in one hand and his flute in the other.

            “Are you all right?” Jack asks. “Do you want me to make you some peppermint tea with lots of sugar and real peppermints again?”

            Gabriel sniffles. “I’m good.” His voice is a choked rasp. He coughs again, leaning forward. “I’m okay.” But he doesn’t sit up right away. When he does, I urge him to drink more water.

            “Hope you don’t have cooties,” he murmurs, sipping my water.

            “Guess you’ll find out,” I say. I go to close my laptop lid—time to eat—but Gabriel catches my hand.

            “No, wait.” He pulls the laptop closer to himself, chewing his lower lip as he opens ones of the e-mails. English is obviously the writer’s second or third language, but the message is semi-understandable. It’s about…

            My heart rate increases. “They’ve seen the horn!” I lean in, so that I can read the e-mail with Gabriel. “It was years ago though… a private collector, a university professor, Dr. Miyam Khoury.”

            “Miyam…” Gabriel murmurs, “daughter of Yael and Ayala, Yael son of David.” 

            I stare at him. “Why do you know that? Is it…?” I scan the e-mail for more names. There are none.

            “She’s of my line,” Gabriel says softly. “My bloodline.”  
          

           I blink. “W-wait. She’s one of your possible vessels.”

           Gabriel nods. “She must be…” he shakes his head “…nearly seventy now. I last saw her when she was about twelve years old. Smart little thing. Destined for greatness. Open a new tab and do a search on her. Let’s see what all she’s accomplished.”

            A new spark comes to life within the archangel, and I find myself doing exactly what he wants as my head spins. His vessel line. If he were to take a new one, would it help him heal?

            “Oh, look at all these hits and biographies!” Gabriel sings. “Click that one!”

            A biography for Miyam Khoury from Harvard University, professor of Old Testament. Bachelors in History from Duke, Master of Divinity from Yale, and PHD in Religion from Harvard. She’s been teaching for over 30 years, at Princeton, University of Toronto, and finally Harvard, her alma mater. Her resume of lectures, published papers and essays, and services as committee head and chairs to boards is a mile long. This woman is impressive.

            I look to Gabriel, about to comment, and stop at the moisture in his eyes as he smiles absently, and studies her picture. “Gorgeous. My humans are all so gorgeous, and talented. Look at what you’ve done for yourself, sweetheart.” He takes over the computer, going back to the page of hits and clicking on another summary. “Her children and grandchildren… oh, there’s Yael and Ayala. I should check in on Omar and Talia as well. They were all so brilliant. And…” he laughs. “I didn’t know more of my families had made it across the pond. There had only been the one in Canada. Yael and Ayala were in Tel Aviv last I saw them. I wonder if they all came over, or if it’s just Miyam, perhaps she just chose to study abroad and remained afterwards.”

            He swallows and starts as if suddenly remembering I’m next to him. He blinks at me. “Oh… I’m sorry. I… Here’s your computer back. I could spend days looking for them all.”

            “If you want to look, be my guest,” I say. “In fact, you can use another laptop to look them up if you want.” I hadn’t thought about Gabriel wanting a computer of his own. He plays video games and all, but I’d never seen him just jump on the web for anything.

            Gabriel shakes his head, wiping his eyes. “No, we need to see why that person mentioned Miyam. If she has the horn or may know where it is or was. Go back to your e-mail.”

            “You sure?” I don’t want to click out. He’d been so happy just now.

            “Uncle, even if she doesn’t have the horn, you should write her a letter!” Jack says.

            Gabriel chuckles. “And say what? This is your angel speaking? No. When my grace is sufficient enough to travel again, I’ll check-in how I used to.”

            “But maybe you should let them know you’re there and who you are,” Jack says. “I think they should know you, like your other families did.”

            “Times are different, Nephew,” Gabriel says. “Even Believers don’t really want angels dropping in for dinner these days. It’s better I stay their secret benefactor—Fairy Godfather if you will. It’s kind of fun. They know something’s out there watching over them and it makes them feel safe.”

            “Uncle cast a curse on the family so if bad things try to bother them, they’ll burn up,” Jack says.

            “Huh?” I frown at Gabriel.

            “Just a little blood curse to protect my families from naughty supernatural forces and the like,” Gabriel says with a shrug. “I’ve only gotten the satisfaction of seeing two demons spontaneously combust though. Guess the word got out: steer clear.”

            “You would think Michael would have put one of those on our line,” I say, thinking. If Michael had done that for us, Azazel wouldn’t have been able to get to me, or hurt Mom or Dad or our grandparents. Our lives would have been so different, the world too. Lucifer never would have escaped the cage. No Apocalypses, no Leviathans, just a normal life for us.

            Gabriel’s gaze is heavy. “Michael had no love for humanity. His vessels were his tools, nothing more. I’m not surprised that you and Dean are the last of the line.”

            “I wish…” And it’s strange, novel, and maybe I shouldn’t say it because things might get weird, but, “Why couldn’t Dean and I have been part of your line?”

            Gabriel laughs full out, which makes him hack his lungs up. I slap him on the back and make him finish my water, before he’s allowed to comment. “You want… you want to be my vessels? Sammy, I never knew you had those kinds of feelings for me!”

            I scowl at him. “That’s not—it’s just… You take care of your people. You wouldn’t have let the shit that happened to Dean and me happen. Loki guise and all, you would have helped us, not toyed with us.”

            Gabriel’s amusement fades and he sighs. “The demons that tried to mess with you would have burned. And you’d have a large family to play with. Heck, you’d be a lawyer, and Dean, a moderately successful country-rock musician who could live off his concert earnings.”

            I stare at him. “What?”

            “Alternative futures.” He sneezes. “Everyone has at least a dozen of them. Those are the ones I would have nudged you both toward.” He fishes tissue out of his back pocket and blows. “But our lines, Dad wanted them to span the seas, help spread the seeds to diversely populate the Earth. Michael and Lucifer’s vessels were more the lines that ended up producing Britons and Saxons and such. I mean, it’s not impossible that people like you could come from my line, but like I said, most of my families haven’t even crossed the pond. They’re pretty much all in the Middle East.”

            “So, let me get this straight.” I raise a brow, a smirk curving my lips. “Dean and I are too…White… to be a part of your family?”

            Gabriel laughs and coughs, holding his chest. “Dude, you gotta stop. You’re gonna kill me.”

            “That’s racist, man!” I elbow him in the ribs, then grin. This is fun.

            “Oh, get over it,” Gabriel says, chuckling lightly and clearing his throat. “Maybe I could arrange a marriage or two, though.”

            “Thoughtful of you.” I go back to scanning my e-mails, looking for more about Miyam, as Cass comes in, concern all over his face.

            “Are you okay?” Castiel goes to Gabriel, trying to touch his forehead. Gabriel ducks his hand, scowling.

            “Sam’s making him laugh too much,” Jack offers.

            The conversation between angels and half-angel becomes background noise as I click on a forwarded e-mail. Tunnel vision sets in as my eyes scan the words. The English is good, the speaker may be native—one of Miyam’s kids, talking about an artifact, a lost family heirloom that his mother had paid hundreds of thousands to obtain, dating all the way back to ancient times.

            Could it be?

            “Guys.” My voice is soft, but it catches their attention. The conversation stops and they peer at me.

            “I think we’ve found the horn.”

 

* * *

 

~*~

 

            Dr. Miyam Khoury’s office hours are posted online. We plan our drive with one overnight stop on the way to Massachusetts, and several hour-long stops for food and gas, and make it to the school just in time to catch her afternoon office hours. I didn’t call ahead, and I hope she doesn’t have a line of students out the door. But midterms are over and there’s weeks before finals should begin. We should be good.

            I park in a designated visitor’s spot, putting my guest parking pass on the dash, get out, stretching my legs and listening to my joints crack. Castiel and Jack get out as well, Jack gaping at some of the castle-like buildings that make up the Harvard Divinity School. I frown at Gabriel who’s still sitting in the car. I poke my head back in to find him fussing with his hair. He pulls it into a low tail and frowns back at me, “What?”

            “Nervous?”

            “Yes,” he admits. “I haven’t actually spoken to a vessel in over two centuries.”

            “But you know what you’re going to say, right?” I ask.

            Gabriel’s eyes narrow. “No. Not at all. I’m just gonna improv. Of course I know what I’m going to say!” He huffs and gets out of the car, smoothing out his clothes. He’s dressed nicely, slacks and a button down under a dark colored blazer, winter coat and plaid scarf. He’d let Mom go ‘thrifting’ for him. Turns out she likes buying men’s clothes. She used to buy clothes for Dad. I should ask her to maybe pick out something for me one day—the thought makes me feel warm. I have a mom that might buy clothes for me now, but instead of dreading it, I’ll savor every shirt and tie, even if I hate them.

            “I think I should go into her office by myself,” Gabe says as we follow an online campus map on my phone.

            “And if it’s a trap?” I say. “Anyone could have seen my queries.”  
            “I can handle it, until you guys bust in,” Gabriel says. “I’m not asking you to wait in the car. You’ll just be in the hall or something.”

            “You’ll be okay talking to her alone?” Castiel asks.

            Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I’m not socially constipated. I can talk to her. I just… It’s a little nerve-wracking anticipating her reaction. It could go many ways, and only a few of those ways are positive. Either way, I’ll find out if she has or knows where my horn is.”

            He stuffs his hands in black leather gloves and walks like he knows where he’s going. Students and faculty and grounds-keepers mill about, some greeting us, most too busy to look our way. Nostalgia, envy and loss tug at my heart, as this place brings back memories of Stanford and student life—Jessica. I bow my head, letting my hair curtain my face as we move.

            I don’t even think about going back to school anymore. I’d have to start over with a new identity or forge records for a bachelors, so that I can move on and re-take my LSAT. But is that even something I want anymore with all the crap going on in my life and the world? No. In my world, degrees don’t matter. But...

            Jack’s eyes are bright, his smile wide. “I want to go to college!”

             He definitely needs a birth certificate, school records, the works. Degrees may not matter, but life experience does. Jack in college, though. He’s not ready. As adult as he might appear, he’s a child—and we’re also not sure how he’ll age. He became a young adult in six months, will he stay this way for a while, or age another year or two?

            “I think there might be some other steps you need to take first, kiddo,” Gabriel says. He sniffles and pulls a tissue out of his back pocket—still not better. I don’t think his body’s even trying to fight anymore. And it brings me back to the thought I had the night we discovered Miyam. Would Gabriel be better off if he took another vessel, one with a human soul inside keeping the body alive? If Gabriel’s grace isn’t needed to keep the vehicle running, then he could focus more on recuperating his powers.

            We enter Andover Hall, a tall gothic structure that’s beautiful and a little daunting. We’re here a few weeks before any snowfall is predicted in this area, which is good. Driving in snow sucks, and Mom would kill me for bringing Gabriel out into it, but I kind of want to see this building dappled in snow. A few people stare at us as we enter, which puts me off guard. No one had paid us much mind outside.

            “It’s because you’re so freakishly tall. It’s more noticeable in a building. People wonder if you’ll clear the doors,” Gabriel mutters and I give him a light shove.

            Whatever. I return a few smiles from a couple of women and a man, ignoring Gabriel’s smirk and low chuckles. “Someone’s getting a date tonight.”

            “Shut up.”

            Dr. Khoury’s office is on the third floor. Gabriel wrings his hands as we get closer. “I feel her.”

            “What?” Castiel glances at him.

            “Miyam,” Gabriel says softly. “I sense my people when they’re nearby.” He turns to us with a nervous smile. “Wish me luck?” He knocks on a door and waits, waving us on as a woman’s voice from inside invites him in.

            “Are you sure…?” I start.

            “Go on,” he says. “Take a tour or something instead of waiting around here. I’ll call you back.” He takes a deep breath and opens the door. I hear a bit of his nervous greeting, before he slips inside, closing the door and effectively shutting us out.

            “Well,” I say.

            Castiel frowns. “Do you really think we should take a tour, as he said? It may not be safe to leave him here.”

            I agree, but we also don’t know how long this will take.

            Jack fidgets, looking out windows and smiling at people below. “I want to walk around. Maybe I can just go, or me and Cass. You can stay here, Sam!”

            Cass smiles. “It might be nice to take him on a campus tour, like…”

            “Like a parent?” I ask. Cass shuffles his feet and I shake my head. “Yeah, go on. It’s okay. I’ll wait here.”

            Jack beams and Cass puts a hand on his shoulder. “All right. Let’s explore this building more, and then we’ll go out and see what else there is.” Cass lets Jack lead as they walk away.

            I find a couch to sit on and pull out my phone to text Dean and Mom that we made it and that Gabriel’s making our connection. Then, I find something to read while I wait.

            Hope everything’s going well, Gabe.

* * *

 


	10. Chapter 10

Gabriel

 

            Miyam stares at me with tears in her eyes, her hands over her mouth as I take her in again. Medium height, almond brown skin barely creased with age, green eyes with gold around the irises—like Cye’s and Allysiah’s, thick smoky brown hair cut into a curly bob. She wears a burgundy skirt and blazer with black high heels; her nails painted to match her jacket. Look at how the professional little Miyam grew up to be. I see her, short and chubby with wild hair and an infectious grin, playing with her little brother Omar.

            “My, how you’ve grown,” I say to her, smiling as her eyes widen. I speak the language of her heart, one only my line can understand.

            “You’re…” she stammers. “You are him.” She stood up when I walked into the room, but stayed near her desk as she stared. She comes no closer to me now.

            “You know me?” I ask gently.

            “My great grandmother told us stories. My grandfather revered you. My parents are devout. I raised my children to be devout, for you are watching over us. I’ve felt your presence before, a long time ago.”

            I step closer to her. “There’s no need to be afraid.”

           “No,” she whispers. “I am not afraid.” But she doesn’t move toward me, so I go to her, taking her hands.

            “Miyam Khoury, daughter of Ayala and Yael, mother of Laela, David, and Miriam, the life you lead is an honor to me. The way you have raised your children, and the way they raise theirs, is an honor to me. Well done.”

            “Am I dying?” she asks. Her hands tremble in mine.

            “What?” I blink at her, then smile. “Oh, no, you’re not. I apologize. I’m simply here to…”

            “Check on us?” she asks. She seems to relax, smiling at me now. “You come to make sure we’re all right. My great-grandmother remembered her sister being gravelly ill, and so the family prayed, and one night she was healed and they knew it was you.”

            I nod. “Sara was not to die then. Her future was too bright.”

            “Great Aunt saw your face, and she described it…she described it as you are now. A young man with long, curling hair and eyes like ours. She called you handsome, lovely even. She didn’t lie.”

            “You are descendant from this man,” I say. “He lived a long time ago.”

            “He walked with you,” she says. “Cye of Lebanon.”

            I start. “Y-yes.”

            “You haven’t walked with another since him,” she says.

            “That is correct,” I say.

            “Are you here, because you… you want to select another?” Miyam asks slowly.

            I blink at her, not quite getting what she means right away, then feel stupid and slow. I blame the human virus. “No, I’ve told generations before you this same answer, this is my form, from now until forever. I will not select another.”

            “Cye of Lebanon must have been honorable indeed to have been so blessed and forever immortalized.”

            Is that bitterness in her tone? There’d been some jealousy within Cye’s natural lifetime. His brothers and sisters didn’t know why I’d chosen Cye over them.

            “Cye was my friend, my brother,” I say. “It was an honor and a pleasure to travel with him. And this is how I choose to remember what he sacrificed. He had youth for all of his days, but never any offspring, no wife, no trade, no permanent home. He wandered all his life.”

            “Some might not think that a sacrifice,” Miyam says and smiles softly. “If my lord is not here to choose another…” her tone is wistful “to whom or what do I owe the privilege of knowingly being in your presence?”

            “Clever girl,” I remark. Liking how she’s moved on to new business. Though her tone and body language reflect disappointment. Did she—does she—want me to say that I’m here for her, to take her as a vessel, or to take one of her children? It’s hard to know. These are not biblical times when water turned to wine and loaves of bread magically multiplied in front of the masses. Some of these humans have faith, but not many would willingly let their bodies be snatched by an angel for an indefinite period of time. Back in the day, I didn’t bat an eyelash at potential vessels on their knees, begging to be next, but nowadays...?

            Then again, my brethren found vessels, though I’m sure none of those people thought the angelic possession might be a permanent state of being. They might have had a problem if that were the case.

            I sigh. “I’m on a mission from Heaven to find something that belongs to me. It’s been lost for a very long time, but I hear that you may know a thing or two about it.”

            Miyam quirks a brow, the reverence in her eyes is still there, but she’s starting to relax. “Something that belongs to you? Something that has been a topic of interest for the past few days among circles of historians and artifact collectors?”

            I smile at my clever girl.

            “I may know a thing or two, yes—those things being that I know exactly where it is,” she says. “If you are talking about your horn, that is.”

            Electricity zings through my body at the mention of the horn. “You have it?”

            Miyam nods and give a slight chuckle. “Would you like to sit down, my lord?”

            She gestures to the leather couch near a tall mahogany bookshelf fully stocked with everything from dictionaries to bibles. I sit on the small leather coach, admiring the Persian rug spread over the hardwood floor, the oil landscape paintings on the walls, the large mahogany wood desk, leather office chairs, potted plants and vases. The colors in the room are rich and bold. I can’t smell, but I’m sure this office space has a flowery scent.

            “Would you like some tea?” Miyam asks. “I can set a kettle to boil. Some cookies? I can have food delivered if you are hungry.” The ease she showed earlier fades as her eyes glitter in apology. “I am a horrible hostess, I’m afraid.”

            “No worries,” I say, holding up my hands. “I’m fine, Miyam. Come, sit with me, talk to me about my horn.”

            She frowns at me, but comes to the couch and sits beside me, staring at me in earnest. I sure hope I don’t look like death warmed over up close. I didn’t sleep much on the ride here, I couldn’t, and my stomach was not too keen on the idea of eating much while on the move. But we’d checked into a hotel upon arrival, and I’d had a hot shower, washed and blow dried my hair and put on fresh clothes. It makes a difference, but…

            “You look tired,” Miyam remarks. “And thin. Are you well?”

            I blink at her, detecting a maternal note in her voice. “I… have been through some trials recently. I’m still recovering.”

            She gasps, her eyes widening. “What happened? In what way can I help?”

            My heart swells with love and pride. “I was held against my will, but I’m free now. And how can you help? You help by continuing on your path to excellence, my love.” I take her hands and squeeze. “Now, tell me about the horn.”

           

            She’d purchased the horn in a private circle, rare artifacts auction eleven years ago. The items for bid at such events were ancient works of art, old books and scrolls, authentic articles of clothing, jewelry, spectacles, and instruments said to be owned by kings and queens. The Horn of Gabriel had been labeled as a horn from David’s Era. Miyam had been invited to the auction, sent to appraise a necklace said to have been worn by Cleopatra herself—but once in the vicinity of the horn, she’d felt its draw—felt the piece of the angel she is bound to that was left behind. She purchased the horn, not telling anyone its true title, though, after it had been safely transferred to her vault, word got out among certain societies. Many approached her, museums, private collectors; she sent them all away.

            The Horn of Gabriel belonged with its family.

            “We all sense its presence in the house,” Miyam says. “My children, my brother and sister when they come to visit. It makes us feel warm.”

            “Do you sense it like you sense me?” I ask, curious.

            “Oh no, my lord. The horn’s aura is mild. Your presence—you are a nova, a beacon. I felt you nearby long before you knocked.”

            I nod. All of my families I’d interacted with had been sensitive to my presence. It’s easier to tell humans you are an angel of the Lord when they can actually feel your power and taste a connection between you and them.

            “Is your mission to retrieve the horn and bring it back to Heaven?”

            “I have come for the horn, yes,” I say. “My mission is to save Heaven and the horn is vital to that.”

            “It’s in danger?” Miyam’s voice shakes.

            I nod, grave. “I have to save Heaven for you, your family and your ancestors. The faithful must be, and also remain, rewarded for your goodness and servitude.”

            Miyam squeezes my hands back. “Then let me invite you to my home, so that I can give you what is yours.”

            I nod. “But…” I don’t want to take her from her work. Heaven can wait a few more hours, if she had things to do before I came here. She tilts her head, seeming troubled.

            “My home is yours. You don’t want to go, and meet my family? I’ll call them together, so they’ll all be there. It may take the children a while, because they may not be able to just leave work…”

            “I don’t want you to just leave work either,” I say. “Do you have… classes to teach, meetings?”

            Miyam blinks at me. “I… they don’t matter. You need your horn. We can leave right now.”

            I smile at her. She reminds me so much of Cye’s grandmother Minu. “Heaven will not fall in a day.” Unless something truly weird happens… which does happen, but… “I want you to finish your day as you normally would. Don’t let me interrupt you any more than I have. I don’t like to intrude.”

            “Which is why you usually don’t make your presence known,” she says slowly. She sighs, taking me in again. “Would you like to come with me then?”

            My turn to frown. “Come with you where?”

            “To watch me teach. I have two more courses to instruct this afternoon. However, I have lunch first. I didn’t bring anything with me today, because I planned to stop by the Rockefeller café on campus. I can give you a tour.”

            “Does the café have sweets?” I could go for cake and hot chocolate—and a walk with Miyam.

            “I’m sure it does.” Miyam’s eyes twinkle. “Let me treat you. But first, we will find you a hat. My husband has left several here that should complement what you’re wearing.”

            “I don’t need a hat…” I trail off at the ‘mom look’ I get.

            “You’re sniffling, my lord,” she says flatly. “The archangel Gabriel will not catch pneumonia on my watch. Give me a moment, and then we’ll go.”

            I smirk at her as she goes to a small closet, donning a coat, scarf, hat and gloves of her own. Yup, exactly like Minu. I pull out the phone Sam and Dean bought for me on one of their trips to town. I text the group: _Hanging out with Miyam. She has what we need. Will meet up with you in a few hours. Have fun?_

            They’ll text back if they can’t figure that out—Miyam holds out a neutral colored cap that matches my jacket and that will cover my ears—right now I have a date.

            I take the cap and stand, extending my elbow to the lady.

* * *

 


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel

 

            “Have fun,” Sam grumbles as he fiddles with the car radio.  

            “I had fun,” Jack chirps. “It was nice of Uncle Gabriel to give us the whole afternoon to roam around! I want to go to this college!”

            “Well, maybe _Uncle_ Gabriel will pull some strings for you,” Sam mutters. He keeps checking his phone for responses to his texts.

            I don’t tell him that Gabriel’s responded to me several times. But my texts had been: ‘Are you all right?’, ‘Stay warm’ and ‘Make sure you eat.’

            “Do you think he can?” Jack asks. “I want to start right now!”

            Sam actually looks away from his phone to stare at Jack. He runs a hand through his hair. “Ah, Jack, there are some things that’ll seriously need to happen before you can start applying to any colleges. Like, stopping a third apocalypse, saving Heaven, which we could be on the way to do right now, if—”

            “Give him this time, Sam,” I say. Under all the nerves and apprehension, Gabriel was pleased on the drive here, knowing that at the end of it he would be reconnected with one of his families. “Though it’s a self-appointed duty, it’s one he’s done for ages and is finally able to do again. A few hours to himself doesn’t hurt anything.”

            Sam sighs. “I’m just worried. What if something followed us—something always follows us. I don’t like that he doesn’t have back-up.”

            “Uncle is an archangel, Sam,” Jack says matter-of-factly. “He might not be the strongest one right now, but he fights really well, and when he really needs to, he can blow things up.”

            I nod. “And his physical strength is more than mine.”

            “So, he doesn’t need our help?” Sam asks, raising a brow.

            “I wouldn’t quite put it that way.” Gabriel is a force to be reckoned with, but he’s nowhere near invincible and burns out quickly. “But he’s no movie woman in distress.”

            “A movie woman?” Jack asks.

            “He means ‘damsel’,” Sam says, shaking his head but smiling at me all the same.

            “A damsel in distress?” Jack seems more confused. “Isn’t that… sexist?”

            Sam chokes out a laugh. “Ah… well, it is and it isn’t, Jack. It’s an old expression that dates back to old movies where there was usually a beautiful lady in an inconveniently long dress tied to train tracks by a villain that usually had some variety of mustache. And she’d scream until the hero, usually a buff guy in a costume, tux, you name it, came to save her. So, then it just became a thing, whenever there was a lady in trouble, she was termed the ‘damsel in distress’.”

            “Uncle Gabriel isn’t a woman, though.”

            “To make it fair, and not sexist, we can make it a universal term here. ‘Damsel’—just means a person in this case,” Sam says.

            Jack nods slowly. “Oh… okay!”

            Teachable moments are truly something special. Sometimes, it makes me melancholy, spending time with Jack and experiencing these moments—as Jimmy should have with Claire. He’d had them, I’ve viewed them, but he should have had so many more. And now Claire is… The life she leads now is not the one she would have had, had I not chosen Jimmy as my vessel. I should have looked harder for a person without children. But I did not care about those sorts of things then.

            “You all right, Cass?” Sam asks, frowning in my direction. “You look…”

            “I’m fine, Sam,” I say, but he continues to watch me, as if wanting me to say more. I don’t really like to talk about my time with Jimmy Novak or responsibilities I sometimes feel for Claire. How dare I take in Jack, when Claire is actually this vessel’s offspring. Jack and Claire have not been introduced, and I don’t think I want to be present if or when it occurs.

            “Cass…” Sam starts again, but I’m saved by the ringing of my phone.

            “Hello?” I answer without looking at the Caller ID.

            “Cass.” Gabriel. “Miyam has invited you all to dinner at 7:30. We’ll pick up what we need at her home when we’re ready to leave. I’ll text the address.”

            Pick up what we need—the horn.

            “Oh…” It’s five-thirty now. “Are you coming to meet us, or should we…?”

            “I’m… already here,” he says. “She said it was too cold to keep wandering around and she wanted to help her husband with the meal. They weren’t expecting so many people, so…”

            “Well, don’t put her out,” I say, feeling guilty. “She doesn’t have to feed us. I don’t even eat.”

            “Oh, well, she’s not feeding just you guys. She’s invited the family, her children and Talia. They’re all coming. In fact, Talia and some of the kids are already here.”

            Gabriel’s voice is happy and warm.

            “Are you enjoying yourself?” I ask.

            “Yeah. They’re—they’re wonderful people,” Gabriel says.

            And I hate to put a damper on his spirts. But I want to ask him if he’s safe, if they’re safe. People we love often end up with targets on their backs because of us. Perhaps we shouldn’t come to dinner. He should get the horn and we should leave. But I can’t bring myself to say this to him, not when he sounds so content.

            Instead I say, “Why don’t you all just have dinner and we’ll stop by afterwards to pick you up. You should spend as much time as you can with them, alone.”

            Sam scowls at me. “Cass…”

            “No, they want to meet my angel brother,” Gabriel says, “and my nephew and friend. I told them you are here. Don’t insult my family, Castiel. You’ve been invited.”

            “Gabriel, their safety…”

            “They’re the safest people on this Earth, Cass,” Gabriel says. “I saw to that a long time ago. Now, stop being a wet blanket and be here by 7:30 for dinner.”

            He hangs up as I hear the voice of a child calling his name.

            “We have dinner plans,” I say to Sam and Jack.

            “Cass, you should have talked him out of it!” Sam says.

            “Me, talk _Gabriel_ out of doing something he wants?” I blink at Sam. He gives me too much credit. “He’s already there, Sam, let him be happy. He hasn’t been, you know.”

            Sam sighs. “I know. Cass, what happened in Heaven?”

            I shake my head. “He saw a lot of change, and learned things about Michael and Raphael that perhaps he wishes he hadn’t.”

            “He had to come to terms with how bad they were at the end,” Sam says with a nod.

            “No,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Had it just been that, he would probably be better off. What he found were the remnants of brothers that missed and grieved him after he was gone. You know he blames himself for what Raphael came to be.”

            “So… he’s guilting himself for leaving Heaven,” Sam says. “How… how bad was it, Cass? Because he’s… so defeated.”

            “Only he can answer that,” I say. “But he was devastated when I found him in his rooms, in Heaven.” I wish I could forget the raw pain on my brother’s face and the way his aura wavered as if it too was wracked with sobs. Gabriel had been fragile in my arms, close to breaking into pieces too small to be fitted back together correctly ever again. “He needs this time with them. Let him have it. And we will… ‘have fun’… until dinner time.”

            I smile at Sam’s worried expression and Jack’s wary one.

            “Uncle Gabriel’s soul is sick,” Jack says, “not just his body.”

            “Yes,” I agree. “Has been for a very long time.”

            “Even before Hell,” Jack says.

            And I agree with him again, even as Loki, I’m sure Gabriel was sick.

            Sam groans. “Fine. What do you guys want to do to kill time?”

            “Bowl!” Jack says. “I saw a bowling alley! I want to rent big shoes and try to roll a strike! Dean should be here. He’s good at bowling, right?”

            Sam laughs. “Dean thinks he’s good at bowling, but I’m better. I’ll teach you.”

            I smile at them both. I don’t know a thing about bowling and think the alleys reek of human feet, bad food, and the lingering memory of cigarettes smoked there years before it was banned. But I’m excited to go bowling because Jack is and pleased because Sam seems to be.

            I relax in the passenger seat as Sam pulls up the address of a nearby bowling alley. A text comes through on my phone, Miyam’s address. I text: _Should we bring anything?_

            Gabriel: _Just yourselves._

            I set the phone on my thigh and close my eyes as the car begins to move.

* * *

 

 

~*~

            Miyam’s house should be referred to as a manor. It is three-stories tall and made of stone and brick. Several chimneys puff smoke into the air, meaning there must be multiple fireplaces inside. As we cross a yard blanketed with fall-colored leaves, lights, designed to look like old-fashioned street lamps with candles inside, light up. The front door opens before we reach the wrap-around wooden porch. A child with coconut brown skin and gold-green eyes stares at us—he’s probably no older than ten.

            “You’re an angel!” His gaze rests on me.

            He smiles, face alight, and scampers away from the door as another body fills it, this time a woman, in her mid-thirties, plump and pretty with nut brown skin and curly dark brown hair. She smiles and holds out her hand to shake mine, then Sam’s and Jack’s. “I’m Laela, Miyam’s oldest daughter, and that was my son, Tavi. We’re still working on manners. Come in!”

            We’re rushed in the entryway by another child, a girl, maybe five. Her long brown hair curls down her back as she stares up at us with wide brown eyes. “More angels!”

            “Shaia!” Laela scolds. “Give them room. Everyone is waiting for you in the parlor. But first, let me take your coats.”

            “I want to take a coat!” Shaia insists.

            “The coats are bigger than you,” Laela says. “Here.” She tosses Sam’s coat over Shaia’s head and the little girl giggles as she’s buried under the fabric, turning around in circles. “Silly, girl.” Laela lifts Sam’s coat off Shaia’s head and kisses the girl’s cheek. “Go tell the others our company will be right along.”

            “Yes, Aunt Laela!” Shaia runs out of the entry hallway and disappears.

            Laela opens a door, revealing a long, but shallow, hall closet with multiple coats, scarves and sets of shoes inside. She hangs Sam’s coat and moves to take mine. I remove it quickly, but insist on hanging it myself as does Jack.

            “I do ask that you remove your shoes as well. If you would like house-slippers we have some in the parlor. Mother’s rules,” Laela says. She waits for us to remove our shoes and tuck them inside the closet before walking in the direction Shaia had gone. “Follow me.”

            We move through a hallway that leads past a beautiful living room full of dark wooden furniture and china cabinets filled with gleaming dishes and crystal sets and a room full of antiques on display. Sam nods his appreciation as Jack gasps. In the distance, piano music, laughter and chatter can be heard. Two people are singing, a young man and a woman.

            We enter a room with four, maroon leather couches, hard wood floors, thick green and beige rugs, family portraits, a huge television mounted against a wall and a grand piano in the middle of it all. Gabriel sits on the piano bench with an older woman, splitting a piano part with her as they sing _Ten Minutes Ago_ from _Cinderella_ —Mary had put it on for Jack one night. Eight people, two being Shaia and Tavi, sit on the couches, laughing and chatting, semi-paying attention the performance.

            “They’re here!” Laela announces, and the performance stops, Gabriel shifting to straddle the piano bench and the woman beside him turning around. The whole room looks at us. Gabriel gets up, coming to us.

            “Hey fam! This my friend Sam Winchester, my nephew Jack, half-angel, and my brother Castiel, full angel.”

            We get a group greeting as curious eyes take us in—eyes that are a mixture of light browns and green-golds. Gabriel blends right into the painting of brown-skinned, exotically beautiful people. He could be a much younger brother or older grandchild.

            “Shall I introduce you?” Gabriel asks, moving back to his family and picking Shaia up. She grins at him as she scales him to get on his shoulders.

            A thin woman with straight, jet black hair and large brown eyes gasps. “Shaia!”

            “She’s fine,” Gabriel says. “And, I’ll start there. This lovely lady is Yasmin, wife of David.” Gabriel touches the arm of the woman and the tall man beside her who’s an older, broader, taller version of Gabriel’s vessel with brown eyes instead of green and darker, straighter hair worn short. “David is the son of Miyam and Kaveh—who’re in the kitchen. You’ll meet them soon.”

            “And you’ve met Laela, daughter of Miyam and Kaveh, and married to Joseph over there.” Gabriel gestures to the only man in the room with a mustache sitting on the couch beside Tavi. He snatches the boy’s iPhone away and smiles at us. “And you met Tavi right? Their son.”

            “My beautiful duet partner is Talia, Miyam’s younger sister. Her husband and children cannot be with us tonight, because they live too far away. She just happens to be visiting from New York City. And… we have one more guest who is on her way.”

            “That’s right, Miriam just texted,” David said with a seemingly affectionate rolling of the eyes. “She had to stop and pick up her new ‘friend’.”

            “She’s bringing him tonight?” Laela asks, sounding put out. “Did Mom tell her we have _special_ guests?”  

            “Oh please, you know we have to see Miri when we can. We can’t take the chance that she might decide not to come,” David says.

            “Aunt Miri’s fun!” Shaia cheers from Gabriel’s shoulders. “She brings the best presents! She goes everywhere! Mommy, she says I can go with her too when I get bigger.”

            “Mmmhmm,” Yasmin hums. “You sure can, sweetheart. Now, get down off of Uncle Gabriel.”

            “You call him ‘uncle’?” Jack asks.

            “He got tired of us calling him ‘lord’,” David says, coming to pull Shaia off Gabriel’s shoulders and tossing her in the air before setting her down. The little girl squeals and runs to jump on the couch beside Tavi when her feet hit the floor. “But I can’t call him ‘uncle’.” He smiles at Gabriel like he’s… a brother.

            Gabriel grins at David and then points at him with his thumb. “This guy works for the FBI.”

            David blushes. “It’s no big deal.”

             “Yes, it is,” Gabriel says. “And Yasmin there is a pediatrician. Laela and Joseph are software engineers. Miyam is a professor, Kaveh is a judge, and Talia is a concert pianist!”

            “A retired concert pianist,” Talia corrects him.

            “Internationally renown,” Gabriel brags. “She’s got platinum CDs and has sold out concert halls.” He glows in their presence as they bask in his. Every eye in the room follows him as he moves back to the piano to sit beside Talia again.

            “Please sit.” Laela motions us to one of the unoccupied couches as the piano music starts again. Gabriel and Talia play classical music now with no sheet music in front of them. Talia takes the obvious lead, but Gabriel skillfully follows.

            I want to lose myself in the music, but Sam taps my shoulder. “Do you feel the presence of the horn in the house?” he asks.

            I frown, shaking my head. “But I wouldn’t be the one to feel it. It’s not my horn.” And though Gabriel’s distracted by his bloodline family, I don’t think that he would be so spirited if the horn isn’t here.

            An older woman and man emerge through a doorway. I recognize the woman from various pictures seen on Sam’s laptop—Miyam Khoury. The couple stands in the doorway admiring the scene, before Miyam announces that dinner is ready.

            “Shouldn’t we wait for Aunt Miri?” Tavi asks.

            “The food will be colder than Christmas, if we do that,” David says. He grabs Shaia’s hand and they march by Miyam and the man that has to be her husband. What had Gabriel called him? Kaveh.

            “I hope we’re not going to eat in that big dining room,” Sam says. “It’s way too fancy for food.”

            Jack gets up, looking down at Sam and me still sitting. I incline my head at Gabriel and Talia playing the piano; they don’t seem to be coming to a stopping point as the rest of the family files around them to head for dinner. No one urges them to move either. Soon, it’s just me, Sam, Jack, Gabriel, Talia, and the older couple in the doorway. Kaveh excuses himself, and Miyam comes into the room, smiling fondly at Gabriel and Talia and then walking in our direction. She extends a hand. “I am Miyam. I hope my family welcomed you into our home properly and let you know how honored we are to have you here.”

            Jack beams. “Your house is beautiful!”

            Miyam smiles back. “Thank you.” She tilts her head, studying Jack, then me. “You are the angel,” she says to me, “and you are the angel child,” she says to Jack. She looks to Sam. “So, you must be…”

            “The human friend?” Sam says. “Yes, that’s me. The boring one. I’m Sam Winchester.”

            Miyam laughs. “I was going to say the very tall one. Gabriel described you quite well.”

            “I’d love to hear the rest of his description,” Sam mutters, shaking his head at the archangel playing the piano.

            Miyam grins. “It was entertaining. He… fits in well here. It is much like having a long lost and extremely loved relative come home.” Her smile dims and she gestures at the door we’d entered through and walks toward it.

            Sam blinks and gets up to follow her. Jack frowns, “But dinner…”

            “Jack, why don’t you go on to dinner. The family would undoubtedly love it, and you,” I say.

            Jack looks shy for a moment, then straightens his shoulders and heads through the door the family had gone through. I feel a moment of pride. Maybe he’s hungry, or maybe he just senses that Sam and I have something to do and it might be better if he didn’t come. He’s maturing.

            I join Sam in the doorway and we follow Miyam into a smaller sitting room where she closes the door. “Alexa, play Kaveh’s Jazz Playlist,” she says and the smooth sound of a saxophones and trumpets pours from small speakers on each wall. There are couches and armchairs around a dark wood coffee table.

            “Please have a seat,” Miyam says and waits for Sam and me to sit on the couch. She takes the couch across from us, her face solemn and concerned. “How is it that my lord came to be in his current state? He won’t talk about it. He simply says he’s been through trials. Is he in trouble with… with…?”

            “God?” Sam asks.

            Miyam’s eyes widen and she nods quickly. “Can we help him?”

            “Gabriel is in no trouble with God,” I say. “God is…” Do I really tell a human that God has left Earth and Heaven to their own devices? “God is away.” Not a lie, and it doesn’t sound final. “Gabriel was on Earth and ran into demonic trouble. We helped him escape, but his healing process has been slow.”

            “He’s not well,” Miyam says, “and his aura… When I was a little girl, I sensed and saw it out of the corner of my eye, a beautiful rainbow prism of joy, creativity and inspiration. It made me want to go out and do something great. I knew I had a great family legacy to uphold. Our family has always known that we’re watched by the archangel Gabriel. And our family stretches over the seas and oceans. My brother Omar lives in our parents’ house in Tel Aviv and records the stories of our aunts and uncles and keeps the family tree as accurate as possible. He’s published so many books, my little brother who used to hate to read.” She smiles absently, then frowns as she seems to remember our presence. Her gold-green eyes are sad. “My lord’s aura now is muted, the colors dimmer and full of turmoil. It makes him vulnerable and in need of protection, care.”

            I’m shocked that a human can see so much. Sam couldn’t see into Lucifer and I’m sure Dean couldn’t do this with Michael. Does Miyam have a gift? I reach out to her, wanting to touch her face, so that I can see inside of her.

            Miyam leans forward. “You may.”

            I start and touch my hand to her cheek, closing my eyes. In her mind, I see memories of a noisy childhood full of games and laughter and high expectations. I see her meet Kaveh, see their wedding and the births of their three children. Nothing special, just a bright clean soul destined for Heaven, and surrounded by… I sense… I pull back, staring at her.

            “He touched you all with a bit of his grace,” I murmur. “You pass it through your bloodline.” The curse he spoke of is also a gift.

            “If he needs it, I will give mine back,” Miyam says.

            “No,” I say. “It’s nothing he can take back. It’s a droplet of water from an ocean anyway, but it makes you all sensitive to angelic presences.”

            Miyam nods. “I feel you, and I sense power in the boy.” She sighs. “My lord says that his horn will help him save Heaven for us. Is it really in grave danger?”

            I nod. “But it is nothing for you to worry about.”

            Miyam doesn’t look convinced. “The horn is in the family vault in the basement. We’ll retrieve it after dinner, but I was hoping you might…”

            “Might what?” Sam asks.

            “Convince Gabriel to return to us when his mission is done, if he does not want to return to Heaven that is,” Miyam says. “He seems to like it here on Earth. He is very familiar and comfortable around humans, in a way that you are not.” She inclines her head to me. “I would like him to have a home with us, to know his human family and that maybe… maybe we can help to restore his happiness.”

            I blink at her. She met Gabriel only hours ago, but the connection between them is strong. She was not exaggerating when she said that Gabriel fits in well here. The family does not treat him like a guest— _we’re_ the guests.

            “It may not be safe for him to stay here,” Sam says.

            “He’s in danger?”

            “His presence could put you in danger,” Sam says. “Bad things come after us all the time. People get hurt just for knowing us. We shouldn’t stay for any longer than we have to. I know he says that there’s some kind of curse your family that keeps you safe from evil, but what about the husbands and wives who don’t share your blood? Demons could come after you by torturing them. Miyam, our presence here is not a good thing, and we need to go.”

            Miyam pales as I go cold, turning to Sam. He’s right, he is, but Gabriel should have been the one to say these things to her, not Sam. Will she throw Gabriel out now? Will he shatter more inside from being rejected by these humans?

            “Family fights for its members,” Miyam says, her voice strong. “Gabriel has protected us for centuries, has blessed and kept us prosperous. We will fight for him.”

            “Even your children, your grandchildren? They could lose people they care about.”

            “And so, we are to give in to the Devil? The demons? Let them have their way, because we are so afraid of them? Why give them more power?” Miyam says, shaking her head, eyes like steel.

            The Devil is dead. But I can’t say that to a human.

            “Miyam, we have seen horrors that you can’t even begin to fathom,” Sam says. “Trust me on this, you don’t want any of that coming for anyone you know. You said you wanted to help. You can help by bringing the horn up now, so that we can be on our way—with Gabriel.”

            Miyam stares at Sam. “And you’ll protect him, care for him?”

            “We’ve been doing it,” Sam says. “He’s much better than he was when he first came to us. We’ll continue to take care of him.”

            “Some of us should come with you,” she says. “We can help. We can provide more than care. We love him.”

            “I love him,” I say, then clamp my mouth shut. I’ve never said those words, but… “He is my brother.”

            “But you do not express your love in the way he needs now,” Miyam says. “We must remain in contact, if you will not invite us to come with you.”

            “Miyam, no contact is best…”

            “Not for him,” Miyam says. “I’ll beg him not to leave. I’ll have the children beg.”

            And he might stay. But Sam is right that he can’t. “We’ll exchange numbers, all of us” I say.

            “Cass!”

            “She’s right, Sam,” I say. “Gabriel has been torn over the fact that he could not visit this family, nor his others. Give him this one. And… frankly, the decision is really not up to you. It is simply a courtesy to ask.”

            Sam scowls and says nothing more as I let Miyam enter my cellular phone number into hers, then give her Gabriel’s. “If you could share that number with your brother, and then have him pass it on to the family in Israel and…”

            “Jerusalem and Syria,” Miyam says. “There are more members. Omar knows them. We will start a phone tree!” She smiles—her brightness reminding me of how Gabriel had been in Heaven, before the fighting. She claps her hands and rises to her feet. “And now to collect Gabriel and Talia from the piano, before they begin composing a symphony.”

            Miyam asks Alexa to stop the music and heads for the door, saying over her shoulder, “I hope you like spicy food, gentleman. My husband has prepared a wonderful meal for us all.”

 

* * *

 

~*~

 

            The dinner had three courses, appetizers, main dish, and dessert. Gabriel’s meal was specialized to feature three different styles of dessert, from light, to crispy, to decadent. Shaia and Tavi looked on with envy as Gabriel made short work of each course.

            “I guess Miriam isn’t coming,” Kaveh says. “Has she texted again?”

            “Not me,” David says.

            “Or me.” Laela pulls out her phone, sending a text.

            “Well, you know Miri,” Miyam says. “We’ll put some food away for her and her friend to reheat when they arrive and pack the rest in the fridge. I hope they didn’t stop to eat. Perhaps she was worried her friend wouldn’t like dinner.”

            “She could have said so,” David says. He seems annoyed.

            “David, you know she’s busy,” Laela says.

            “Always too busy for family,” David sighs. “But so long as I get to see her before she takes off again, I’m all right, I guess.”

            “What does Miri do?” Jack asks. He sits between Tavi and Shaia. He looks like he enjoys being around children.

            “Oh, she’s a photojournalist,” Miyam says with a smile. “She’s won a few awards for her pieces. She’s often out on location—she goes to such dangerous places sometimes, but she always comes back to us whole, full of energy, and ready to make a difference. That one is my daredevil.”

            “She used to jump out of trees and climb out on the roof,” David says. “I almost had a heart attack a few times watching her.”

            “Me too,” Laela says with a laugh. She leans in, meeting my eye and looking to Sam, then Jack. “She’s ten years younger than me.”

            “And fifteen years younger than me,” David remarks. He glances at his parents. “I don’t know what they were thinking—hmm… let me correct that. I don’t WANT to know what they were thinking.”

            “Davi!” Miyam snaps, but then snorts out a laugh as her husband chuckles.

            Gabriel’s grin is wicked. “David, in front of the kids?”

            “They don’t get it anyway,” David says with a shrug as Yasmin hits him with her cloth napkin.

            “I get it,” Tavi says, wrinkling his nose.

            “I get it too!” Shaia cheers.

            “No, you don’t.” Tavi rolls his eyes.

            Gabriel and his family laugh. As Kaveh and Miyam set out cups and pour coffee for the adults and cocoa for the kids and Gabriel. The older family members talk about their work days, making grand stories out of mundane tasks and winning laughs and jokes from the others. Gabriel listens, elbows on the table, with bright eyes and an eager smile. He loves this. After coffee, we head back to the parlor to sit around the piano and talk some more while Talia and Gabriel play. At one point, Talia stops, massaging her knuckles and apologizing for being old and achy. Gabriel takes her hands in his, and presses a kiss to back of each. Talia stares at her fingers, wiggling and stretching them, then at Gabriel, in wonder. Her hands take to the piano keys again, playing rapid scales up and down the ivory.

            “I can play all night again,” Talia announces. “Play with me, Gabriel. Let’s sing. How about…”

            “ _Kiss the Girl_!” Shaia shouts. 

            “That’s just what I was going to suggest, grandniece,” Talia says with a laugh. “Do you know it, Gabriel?”

            Gabriel snickers. “Do I know it? Of course, I know it!” Then under his breath to Talia, “I don’t know it. You lead.”

            At ten o’clock, the kids are put to bed in guest bedrooms, while the adults pour wine and Talia plays some of her personal compositions. Maybe she really will play all night. Gabriel and Miyam stand, talking in a corner of the room, and Gabriel catches my eye, nodding for me, Jack and Sam to come over.

            “It’s time,” Gabriel says, voice anxious.

            Miyam doesn’t excuse herself or us from the room, we simply slip away. Kaveh notices, but says nothing, as his son and daughter slow dance with their spouses to Talia’s music.

            A door leads down into the basement. The steps are steep but well-lit with thick banisters for balance. The area is as finely decorated as the rest of the house with nice sitting room furniture, thick rugs and paintings on the walls. A vault is built into the back wall. Miyam goes to it, entering a long code on the keypad and then speaking her name into a voice recognition device. The door hisses as joints unlock and she turns a metal handle. The heavy door groans and she steps inside. Beyond the vault door is a small room full of valuables on pedestals and in glass cases. Gabriel enters behind Miyam, immediately wrapping his arms around himself. Sam and Jack shiver as well. It must be cold.

            At the back of the vault is a handsome black box—an instrument case. Miyam steps aside, glancing at Gabriel and bowing slightly. Gabriel swallows, hands trembling as he reaches out to the case, unlatching the gold snaps, and pushing it open. The golden horn gleams, its body, long as a flute’s, ends in a rounded bell. The archangel runs a finger over the instrument, the tremor in his hands spreading to the rest of his body.

            Miyam breathes and reaches out, pulling Gabriel into her arms as he weeps.

            Jack looks at me, horrified. “What’s the matter?”

            I shake my head, heart aching for my brother. I can only imagine the memories and feelings trapped inside that horn. I go to Miyam and Gabriel, wrapping my arms around Gabriel’s back, wanting him to feel support on all sides. His body practically convulses it shakes so hard, his sobs are gut-wrenching.

            “Sam, can you close the case?” I ask over my shoulder.

            I hear the soft thump of the case closing and the metallic clicks of latches snapping shut. Miyam murmurs calming words to Gabriel in Aramaic—not Hebrew, as I thought she would speak, and strokes his hair, a maternal gesture I’ve seen Mary use. She calls him her sweet lamb as if she thinks of him as a child, her child, to look after and love.

            I step back as he calms, sighing and hiccupping into Miyam’s shoulder. Miyam is taller than him, I realize—men in Cye of Lebanon’s day had been shorter, and women in this day are taller.

            “Are you all right?” I ask him, touching his shoulder.

            He takes a hitching breath, turning to look at me through huge, battle-weary eyes. “D-dad held the horn last. He…He… He wished me well. Loved me so. And wanted me to never have to use it to call Him, because it would mean that I was in trouble or hurt. He wanted me to find it in myself to go to Michael and Raphael. But He wouldn’t know…” Gabriel’s face crumples and he brings his hands up to cover it as he weeps again. This time, I hold him.

            Miyam stares at me over his head, confusion and pain on her face. “Can we call the other archangels to him?”

            I shake my head. “Gabriel is the last archangel.”

            Miyam gasps, covering her mouth with both hands.

            “Much goes on with regular humans never knowing about it,” I say as I rub Gabriel’s back. “There have been wars and many angels have been lost.”

            “There’s a war now,” Miyam says slowly. “Will you win, do you think? With the horn?”

            “The horn may win us a battle,” I say gravely, “but the wars never seem to end.”

            “But, so long as we’re around, we’ll fight,” Sam adds. He holds the horn case at his side. “But we really need to get back to it.” He looks at Gabriel, at a loss, and I don’t know what to tell him.

            Gabriel’s broken. We all know that. We may not ever fix him. We know that too. But we love and need him. Gabriel calms again and I release him, but keep a hand on his shoulder as he wipes his face on his sleeve. Miyam pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and presses it into his hands.

            He grips it and stares at her. “I’m sorry, Miyam. I shouldn’t have…”

            She takes his face in her hands and kisses his forehead. “You will stay here tonight. It’s too late for you all to be driving and I refuse to let you stay in a hotel when we have plenty of room.”

            She shoots Sam a glare over Gabriel’s head and leads Gabriel out of the vault. The archangel follows without protest.

            “Cass…” Sam begins, but I hold up a hand.

            “I’ll ward the horn case,” I say. “We really shouldn’t drive out tonight anyway. Gabriel needs rest and he doesn’t sleep well in the car.”

            Sam sighs, passing the horn to me. I take the case and set it on the floor, kneeling and thinking of the protection runes I want to carve into the satin lining.

            Jack sits on the floor beside me, his eyes wet. “Castiel?”

            “Yes, Jack?” I push my power into the lining, carving the runes with my mind and fusing them with a bit of my grace.

            “Will Uncle Gabriel be all right?”

            I cut off the power feed, feeling that my work is done. Nothing should be able to track this horn’s location. I caress the case, searching for a hint of what Gabriel may have felt when he touched the horn. “I don’t know, Jack.”

            We leave the vault, Sam closing it and turning the handle to set the locks back in place. As we go up the stairs, I halt, a sense of foreboding coming over me.

            “Something’s wrong,” I whisper.

            Sam gives me a knowing look and rushes up the stairs, me and Jack following. We run back into the parlor, where the piano music has stopped as the room stares at a man holding a young woman—who bears a strong resemblance to Miyam, Laela and Talia—at knifepoint.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Sam

 

            “Let her go!” David snarls.

            The man laughs, holding the young lady with her arms behind her back, a curved witch blade grazing her jugular. “I will, if you all do as I say. It won’t be hard. I just want the Horn of Gabriel.”

            “What makes you think we know where it is?” Kaveh demands, glaring at the man, but holding his hands up to show that he’s weaponless.

            “Oh, don’t play dumb. I’ve been following you people for years and then that message board popped up, started by the one and only Sam Winchester.” He winks in my direction. “Thanks for the tip, by the way. Lots of us have been looking for that thing you got there. Hand it over.”

            “No!” the lady cries, and grunts as the man grips her tighter.

            “Oh, be quiet Miriam,” the man groans. “Pretending to be attracted to you was tiresome. Yack, yack, yack about politics and Syria and the Ukraine. So annoying and self-righteous. The whole world’s going to Hell, my dear, and I intend to take a throne. Now, if you please…” he nods his head at me.

            I step forward with the horn case. We can try to get it back later. There are things we can do…

            “No!” Miriam struggles and the man’s eyes turn completely black—demon. The knife moves and….

            Good Chuck.

            It explodes into sprinkles of light. The demon howls snatching his hand away and leaping back from Miriam as holy fire travels up his arm. He waves it around, screaming as the flame eats him alive.

            Miriam falls to the floor, watching him in horror, before screaming, “He’s not alone! There are more outside!”

            Shit. All our gear is outside too. “All of you stay put!” I shout, running past Miriam; Cass and Jack at my back. I stop, holding out my arm to stop Jack. “You stay back and protect the family.”

            “But I can help! I’ve been training!”

            “Sam, he’s strong. We might need…”

            The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as everyone goes dead silent. Power crackles through the room—familiar and hot. I whirl around, gaping as Gabriel sweeps through the room, past the family, past us, eyes alight with angel fire, blue energy sparks and surrounds his body like a personal force field. The Khoury family stares after him, Kaveh pulling Miriam to her feet and hugging her tightly.

            I throw a look at Castiel and chase after Gabriel. He’s already stepping off the wrap-around porch, moving to the middle of the yard, where six people—demons probably—stand to meet him. He looks up and lightning fills the sky, circling as he raises a hand.

            I make it to the porch. The demons tilt their heads back to stare at the sky, then start backing up.

            “Ah, ah, ah,” Gabriel sings. “Not so fast.” The demons halt in their tracks, bodies tense. “I didn’t say Simon says. Now, how many of you does it take to deliver a message?”

            “Six!” One demon shouts. They’re all burly, bald men in black t-shirts and jeans—some sort of demon gang maybe.

            Gabriel laughs, the sound friendly despite the growing lightning overhead and the power in his eyes. The demons laugh with him, nervously.

            “Six, huh? That’s funny.” Gabriel winks at the demon who’d spoken. “For being a funny guy, you get to be the messenger. I need you to tell the rest of your Hell buddies and hey, any other evil thing you might run into, work with, sleep with, heck, I don’t care. Just spread the word.”

            He points a finger and a bolt of lightning wrapped in angel fire speeds to the ground, smiting the other five demons. All amusement leaves Gabriel’s voice, his words are stone cold. “No supernatural force, power, vessel, or being shall harm, corrupt or prosper against those from the blood of Gabriel. All weapons formed against them will shatter, and enemies will be burned to ash by the flames of Heaven.”

            The demon falls to his knees, watching his gang disintegrate. Piles of ash lay on the leafy carpet over the ground. Gabriel puts his hands in his pockets, tone shifting back to the jovial one from earlier. “That was just a reminder. That curse is ages old, but, you know, people forget—oh and make sure you mention that I don’t have to be around for that to happen either. I’d tell you to ask your friend inside about it, but uh… he’s a pile of ash right now too.”

            Gasps and whispers behind me. I turn to see the curtains open on the porch windows. Gabriel’s bloodline peers out into the yard. Castiel and Jack come out onto the porch.

            “Did he…?” Castiel stares.

            “Yeah.”

            “Run along now—and leave the meat suit behind. That one’s still kicking.”

            The demon tosses his head back, mouth falling open as black smoke billows out. It travels upward and speeds away. The vessel drops and Gabriel marches to it, touching the back of the man’s neck. A dull blue glow emits from the palm of his hand and then the man vanishes.

            “Wh-what’d you do to him?” Jack calls.

            Gabriel turns. His eyes are normal, the blue energy around his body gone. “Erased his memories of being possessed, healed him. Sent him home. He’s been missing for three months.”

            “Why’d you save him and not the other guys?” Jack asks. “Was he special?”

            Gabriel frowns, walking back to the porch. “He was the only one still alive. The other vessels were dead.” The closer he comes, the grayer his skin looks. He’s wobbling. Gabriel puts a shaky hand to his brow, eyes fluttering. “I…I think…”

            Castiel flashes across the porch, catching Gabriel before he hits the ground. Footsteps pound across the wood, and suddenly the Khoury family is in the yard, surrounding Castiel and Gabriel. Yasmin orders everyone to stand back as she kneels beside Castiel who lies Gabriel on the ground so she can check him over.

            I leave the porch, joining the family, taking each of them in. They don’t look scared at all by what they saw Gabriel do, by what they saw happen to Miriam. In fact, Miriam hovers behind Yasmin, Miyam nearby. They look worried, like relatives around the sick bed of a loved one. The piles of demon ash in the yard disappear in puffs of smoke as Yasmin orders David to pick Gabriel up and carry him to the living room.

            The family crowds us out, Castiel, Jack and me falling to the back of the line as they troop into the house. The kids come downstairs in their pajamas asking what’s going on and Laela runs interference, not letting them see Gabriel being carried, and ushers them back upstairs.

            “Is this weird?” Jack asks. “I feel like this is weirder than Dean not getting mad at Uncle for throwing up in his car.”

            “It’s weird,” I confirm. “These people should be freaking out. There was a demon in the parlor—one that went up in flames after holding one of them hostage. Then…”

            “An archangel smote five demons in the front yard and exercised another,” Castiel says. “But… these are people who have always believed in angels, and who are knowingly entertaining angels in their home.”

            “But it’s all first-time experiences for them,” I say. I just don’t think they should be taking this so well. It’s kind of creepy.

            We follow the family-train into a room that looks more like a man cave with large recliners and the biggest flat screen TV I’ve ever seen inside of a house. It takes up an entire wall. Gabriel is laid on the soft gray carpet so that Yasmin can finish examining him. She checks his vitals as if he’s human.

            “What can I get for you, Yasmin?” Kaveh asks.

            “Water,” Yasmin says. “Joseph, grab a pillow from over there to elevate his feet.” She unbuttons Gabriel’s shirt, revealing a T-shirt underneath, then checks his pulse again, timing it with her watch.

            Kaveh comes back in with a large bottle of water and a glass. He sits them down beside Yasmin and goes to Miriam, hugging her again. Miriam kisses his cheek and says, “I’m okay, Papa.”

            “What were those things?” Talia’s voice is quiet. “Were they demons?”

            And now they ask.

            “Yes,” Castiel says. “Demons possessing human vessels.”

            “I thought he was my friend,” Miriam murmurs. “I brought him here and then he changed. He dragged me out of the car and all those guys showed up out of nowhere. He told them to wait outside and he used my house key to get in. I knew he was strange—I sensed it, but—I knew him before. Jefferson was a nice guy. We were in Afghanistan together. He—oh my… Did… he’s dead now, because…”

            “He was already dead.”

            Yasmin sits back. Gabriel’s eyes flutter open.

            “Wh-what?” Miriam stammers.

            “The demon in him burned your friend out—I can’t tell you how long he’s been gone.” Gabriel’s voice is weak, tired. “The curse doesn’t harm humans. Had he been alive, it would have simply exorcized the demon and burned its essence to ash.”

            Tears spill down Miriam’s cheeks.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t apologize,” she says, wiping her eyes.

            “You protected us,” Talia says. “The demons came for our family and you destroyed them. Those words you spoke…”

            “No evil will ever harm you,” Gabriel says. “You and your descendants are forever protected.”

            “Thank you,” Kaveh breathes. “My daughter could have…”

            “She couldn’t have,” I say slowly and feel awful for what I’m about to do next. “Gabriel’s blood protects her—but not you, Kaveh. Or…” who else wasn’t directly related? “Yasmin, or…”

            Miyam buts in. “There are many who do not have divine protection, and so, we protect them.”

            “But if a demon were to take Kaveh or Yasmin, what could you do then?”

            “What you do when demons take those you love,” Miyam says firmly. “You fight demons with weapons. Gabriel told me so. There are talismans you wear, spells you know. There are ways, and our family will learn.”

            “Or we can leave now, and announce that we’ve got the horn and that’s all we wanted, and maybe you’ll be left alone.”

            “And ignore what we saw out there, in here, holding my little sister hostage?” David asks. “No way, not if there’s something we can do. You said those demons take people. And they—they can burn them out, kill them, just by being in their bodies. That’s not right. Does it happen often… could there be demons out there we don’t know about?”

            Gabriel is quiet as Yasmin helps him sit up. Joseph pours him a glass of water from the bottle.

            “Yes,” Cass says. “Demons can be your neighbors. They’re good at pretending. You might not know they’re demons, until they try to kill or possess you.”

            “You’ll know,” Gabriel says. “You can sense them.”

            “I sensed it,” Miriam says. “Just didn’t know what it was. I’m so stupid. If I’d questioned it, maybe…”

            “You didn’t know how to save him,” Gabriel says gently. He accepts more water from Joseph.

            “If there’s a way,” David starts, “we need to know it.”

            I blink. This family—I gaze around at their grave eyes—wants to save people from demons. Instead of being freaked out by what would have normal people crapping their pants, they’re inspired to join the war.

            “I can teach you exorcisms. If you have my blood, your personal magic won’t work unless you’re being attacked, so you should learn the words too.” Gabriel says. “And I can make you talismans and wards to keep things like that from even crossing the threshold of your homes. I’ll arm you.” He tries to get up, but Yasmin and Joseph hold him down.

            “You’re not doing anything right now,” Yasmin says, “but going to bed.”

            “I’ll carry him,” David insists. “What room, Mom?”

            “I don’t need to be carried,” Gabriel mutters. “I can walk.”

            “You’re unsteady,” Yasmin says. “Will you take help?”

            Gabriel sighs, but nods. Yasmin moves aside and Joseph and David boost Gabriel up, David catching Gabriel when his knees buckle and swinging him up into his arms again. “You’re not gonna make it up. Let me do this for you. It’s the least I can do. Honor me?”

            Gabriel, looking sick and dizzy, nods.

            “The last room on the second floor, the one with the adjoined bath,” Miyam says.

            “Where do you keep a thermometer, Mom?” Yasmin asks. “He’s burning up. I want to see the numbers.”

            “Oh, I’ll get it,” Miyam says.

            The family follows David carrying Gabriel up the stairs. I guess the family meeting will reconvene around Gabriel’s sick bed. I stare at Jack and Castiel.

            “This is the strangest, normal family I’ve ever visited,” I say. It’s charming in a kooky way. 

            “We should follow them, so we know where Gabriel is. If we’re going to sleep here, I’ll need to stay in his room to ensure he doesn’t burn this place down after a nightmare or fever dream,” Castiel says.

            “Right.”

            There’s a staircase at the end of one of the halls and we trail after the sound of voices. In a large bedroom with a four-poster king-sized bed and maroon carpet to match the gold and maroon motif, the Khoury family sits and stands. There’s a divan and a papasan that Laela, Joseph and Talia sit on while Yasmin fusses over Gabriel with Miriam and David hovering. Kaveh paces the room and Miyam enters with a thermometer and a bottle of aspirin.

            “There are books to read and study about this stuff,” David says. “I’ve seen them, but I know all of them can’t be relied on. You have recommendations?”

            Gabriel nods. “But the real person you should ask is that guy.” He points in my direction and the family’s attention turns to me.

            I’m just about to sit down beside Laela on the divan, I halt mid-sit, then plop down. “Ah…”

            “Go on, tell them what you do for a living, Sammy,” Gabriel says, then holds still as Yasmin sticks the thermometer in his ear.

            Gold-green and brown eyes lock on me, David and Miriam sitting on the end of Gabriel’s bed. Kaveh coming to sit in the papasan, Miyam tucking blankets around Gabriel while watching me. Jack gives me a double thumbs up and Castiel nods.

            “Well…” I start. “I’m a hunter. And not of wildlife or anything like that. I hunt what goes bump in the night. I was raised to it.”

            The family practically leans in, and what the Hell, they deserve a real story. “When I was six months old, a yellow-eyed demon by the name of Azazel visited my bedroom and killed my mother…”

 

* * *

 

~*~

 

I wake to the smell of pancakes and eggs. I roll onto my side, staring at a digital clock that’s not mine—and too nice to belong to any motel I’ve checked into recently. Sitting up, I gaze at the light blue guest room I share with Jack. There are twin beds and photographs of little kids on the walls. I look over to see Jack’s bed empty and made already. The kid never slept much before he lost his grace, and he still doesn’t.

I get out of bed, making mine back up too. I’d gone out to the car to bring all of our bags in last night, along with some protection charms for the family. I’d brought in runes and talismans and holy water. I’d told them my whole life story, and Dean’s, and while the family doesn’t want to become hunters, they do want to help us and other people. It’s… inspiring… to be around people who think of hunting as a field of study. Laela and Joseph want to write computer programs and build databases for us, David wants to look out for us on the legal level, Yasmin wants to volunteer to help doctor hunters in need, Miyam and Kaveh want to help with translations, and Miriam… Miriam’s been quiet. Maybe one person in the family is finally, and rightfully, in shock.

I feel guilty using other people’s showers, but the Khourys told us to make ourselves at home. I take my bag into the bathroom across the hall and get ready for the day, and to leave. The bathroom has a glass shower stall with a wide showerhead that rains water down on me at different speeds. I spend more time in it than I should and decide to wash my hair with the fancy shampoo in the wooden shower caddy.

I wonder…

If I’d gotten to be normal, gone to law school, gotten a job that pays, would I have a house like this. Do I want one? Did I? I envied my friends who lived with both parents in the same big house for practically all their lives. I wanted everything I didn’t have then. Maybe I still want it, but it’s not important. That desperate need to be like everyone else is long gone. I just want my family close by, safe, and happy. A place like this will never be mine, and I don’t need one.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t luxuriate when I can. I take thirty minutes in the bathroom before coming out, bag slung over one shoulder. I travel down to the second floor, the smell of pancakes and eggs getting stronger. Yasmin, clad in jeans and a sweater, greets me with a smile.

“Good morning, Sam.” She holds the same thermometer from last night and looks to be coming from the direction of the room Gabriel was put in.

“How is he?” I ask.

Yasmin raises a brow. “Exhausted, he dozes off and on, and Castiel keeps the curtains from burning.”

“Oh geez.” I run a hand through damp hair. “Sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to apologize, and neither does he,” Yasmin says. “Are you going down for breakfast? You should hurry, or the food will be gone. Our family is not known for leftovers.”

I frown as she laughs, tempted to check on breakfast, but really wanting to look in on Gabriel. Yasmin winks at me and heads for the stairs, going down. I make my way to Gabriel’s room, knocking lightly before poking my head.

The first thing I see is Castiel sitting on the divan, reading a thick book. I look over at Gabriel curled on his side in the bed, eyes closed.

“Sam?” Cass shuts the book and tilts his head. “You were up late. Should you be up this early?”

“It’s 10:00 am, Cass.”

“Oh.”

“Heard you put out some fires.”

“Three,” Cass says. “Twice it was the curtains, once it was the rug, but Gabriel actually put them out himself before any damage was done.”

“Yasmin thinks you did it.”

“Yasmin saw me run to the curtains,” Cass says, “but each fire went out seconds after it started. He knows where he is.”

I lean over, touching Gabriel’s forehead. He’s warm. “We really should leave today. You think he’ll be okay to travel?”

Cass sighs. “I don’t know, Sam. I’m a little afraid he might set the car on fire.”

Yikes. We’ve driven with Gabriel knocked out in the backseat or passenger seat before, but never when he was really sick—except for that once, but I don’t like recalling any events that happened on the night Michael first took Dean. “What do we do?” I ask.

“Wait around for a while to see if he feels better,” Castiel says. “Plan more hotel stops on the road, so he can sleep there, and try to keep him awake in the car. It is simply imperative that we keep moving, not that we make it to the bunker in record time.”

He makes a point.

“The Khourys won’t like it, though,” Cass says. “They make a very strong case for us to remain here, at least until Gabriel’s fever breaks. The house is thoroughly warded now, and they’d like for us to teach them more. We really should do that for them. Before we came, demons were watching them because of the item Miyam possessed. They know that angels have been here.”

“So, we should…”

“But they are also afraid of this place for that reason too. It’s not every day that an archangel appears in a human’s front yard and smites demons.” Castiel frowns. “You know, he also cast a glamor on the neighborhood. None of the neighbors saw or heard anything last night. The Khourys wondered about it, and Kaveh said he talked to the man next door while getting the paper. They were home when it all occurred and didn’t know anything out of the ordinary happened.”

I blink, truly studying Gabriel. The shadows under his eyes are blue-black, his face pale and drawn. He moans, rolling onto his other side, away from me, like he feels me staring at him. “We haven’t seen him use that much power since he smote Asmodeus.”

“It may be some time before he’s able to do something like that again,” Castiel says. He lifts his book. “I’ll support you in whatever you decide, Sam.”

“Thanks, Cass.” I spare Gabriel one last glance before leaving the room to head downstairs for breakfast.

 

The kitchen is clear, except for Miriam who sits in front of a tall stack of pancakes, drowning them in maple syrup. She glances up at me. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I grab a plate off the counter and take a few pancakes of a platter on the table. I spoon the last of the eggs onto my plate, hoping everyone else has eaten. I hear voices from different rooms in the house and the sound of piano music and televisions. I sit across from Miriam, starting in on my food.

“You missed all of the breakfast meats,” Miriam says.

“Oh?” I don’t mind much. The eggs are fluffy and delicious and the pancakes are sweet without syrup.

“Food goes fast around here,” Miriam says. She puts her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands as she studies me. She wears no makeup and her hair falls around her face in damp curls, maybe fresh from a shower—naturally pretty…and sharp. “I want to do a story about hunters.”

I nearly choke on my food. “Wh-what?”

Her thin brows quirk. “You heard me. I’m a photojournalist and investigative reporter. I’ve been in Afghanistan, Iran, Syria, Cairo, England, Ireland, France, Russia—undercover, moving with US Armed Forces. I’m combat trained and have a third-degree black belt in Martial Arts. I wouldn’t take long to train at all as a hunter. I can help and tell your story.”

“Tell our story…”

“To a world that needs to know what’s going on,” she says. “There’s a war being fought for our world, our souls, and we, the people, don’t know about it. We should all fight. Those necklaces and runes should be in every household. The demons can’t win if humans don’t let them in.”

“Hey-hey, no,” I say. “We don’t go around just telling anybody about what we do. We keep it low-key, secret. Mass hysteria comes about when too many regular people know about the existence of the supernatural. You start getting witch hunts and cocky kids going out without a clue to get themselves killed against things they didn’t bother to try to learn about.”

“And so, we feed it to them in small doses. A story here, a photo there, followed by explanations. We start small and build. Like you do when you bring in new hunters.”

“Those people are usually brought in because a monster killed someone close to them…”

“And we could stop that rite of passage if more people are informed,” Miriam says, stabbing a pancake with a fork. “No more Jeffersons.” She looks away for a moment, before meeting my gaze again. “I want to come with you. To see your bunker, meet your hunters.”

“Miriam, no,” I say. “It’s dangerous.”

“What I do is dangerous,” Miriam says. “Doesn’t stop me. But you know…your line of work is probably more dangerous for you than me. I’ve got divine protection against evil. I heard the words he spoke last night. Any supernatural being will be burn to ash if they move against me.”

“Yeah.” I think on that. She does have a point, an extremely valid point, but, “Miriam, you can’t do a story on us.”

Miriam stares me down and I gulp. She’s maybe about 5’5 and 125 pounds soaking wet, but she might scare me—only a little, though. “Sam. I’m going to do a story on hunters, whether you help me or not. I’m very sure I can do my own research and figure out where I need to be and who I can contact. It can’t be all that hard.”

“Miriam…”

“If I do that, I could be opening several of Pandora’s jars, but rest assured, one or two will be opened. Now, you could prevent that…”

“Wow.” I sit back in my chair, slack-jawed. Her reasoning, her manipulation, her putting things ‘into perspective’. “You… you’re just like him.”

“Him? Gabriel?” Miriam seems pleased. “Really?”

“He can be a real manipulative bas—I mean—you know, when he really wants things his way, he knows how to work an angle. He’d probably be grinning like a proud father if he was here listening to you.”

Miriam laughs lightly. “I want to know him, Sam. He’s a vital part of my heritage. It would mean so much to my family for one of us to…” She bites her lip and looks at her pancakes. “Mom says that he’ll take no other vessel, but…”

I suck in a breath. “You want him to…?”

Miriam shrugs. “To be twenty-seven forever? To travel to places other humans can’t. The adventures of Cye of Lebanon were bedtime stories my grandmother told us. I was never quite sure if they were all real—but now I can ask. And maybe, one day, great, great, great grandchildren will hear about the adventures of Miriam of New Jersey.”

“You already have adventures that can be made into stories, Miriam,” I say.

She shakes her head at me, eyes bright. “I want even more, Sam. If he’d have me, but even if he won’t, _you_ can lead me into another adventure. Look, I know this decision will involve more than just you. Gabriel has to approve or I won’t attempt to do anything with this. But I think letting me capture your lives and missions as hunters is a good thing. I’ll give you time. Go, do what you need to do, we’ll keep in touch. And months from now, you’ll let me know. Have Gabriel let me know.”

I nod, not able to shoot that down. I don’t think an exposé is a good idea, doubt I’ll ever think it is, but maybe Dean or Mom will surprise me, maybe Gabriel will surprise me. Maybe we’ll end up reality TV stars with our own YouTube channel. We’ll be the Ghost Facers, only not lame. Months from now, who knows where any of us will be. Hopefully not dead, hopefully Michael-free, with Heaven to look forward to in the future. I eat more of my breakfast and am about to get up and pour myself some coffee from the pot, when Miriam speaks up again.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favor and don’t tell my Mom and Dad about any of this.”

I smirk, getting up to get my coffee. “Only if you do me a favor and don’t say anything about any of this to Gabriel. I’ll tell him later.” He’s got enough to worry about.

I take a mug sitting on the counter by three others, and pour coffee, listening to Miriam’s fork scratching the plate behind me.

“Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Gabriel all right, like, really?”

“He’s working through some issues, but he’ll be fine.”

“He just seems so sad, so tired,” Miriam says. “It’s the kind of weariness you see in people who’ve had enough. I saw it the eyes of so many soldiers overseas.”

I turn around, coffee in hand, to catch her serious gaze.

“Keep taking care of him, Sam,” Miriam says softly. “We love our angel.”

I smile at her. “So do we.”

I sit back down and we finish our breakfast in perfect, companionable silence.


	13. Chapter 13

Gabriel

 

            _“Wake up, or you’ll miss everything!”_

_The excitement in the familiar voice makes me smile, before I even open my eyes. Cye grins down at me and leans back, pulling me into a sitting position. Then his image dissipates, his presence returning to the outside world. I hear his voice in my thoughts. “I thought you’d sleep forever. I don’t want to watch the whole thing by myself.”_

_The northern lights look like a massive prism of color. Child-like wonder rolls through me as Cye takes it all in, wide-eyed. I let him control his body, choosing to be a bystander so that he can experience it all himself. Though, I protect him from the cold, keeping his body warm and limber. We’re wrapped in fur—a fur lined tunic, fur pants, boots, a hat and a coat. Cye had hunted and skinned several native beasts, enjoying the tasks of readying the hides and crafting his own clothing. He loves learning and practicing new skills, with my angelic enhancements of course. He picks things up as I do, which means mastery of skills comes quickly._

_I’ve seen these lights before, but I don’t want to take anything away from sky. I let him feel me also looking through his eyes and he laughs._

_“I wish we would do this forever,” Cye says. “You and me. Are you sure there’s no way I can live forever too?”_

_I snort. “You’ll live forever in paradise, Cye.”_

_“Without you,” Cye says. “I don’t see how that will be paradise.”_

_“You don’t now,” I say, “but just wait until you get there. Trust me, your grandparents felt the same way, and now they don’t. ‘Gabriel, who?’ they ask.”_

_“No, they don’t!” Cye snorts. “Stop being ridiculous for just a minute. Will you—can you visit me in Heaven? Or will we be kept separate?”_

_“I’m really not supposed to,” I say. “Angels aren’t allowed to interfere unless something’s wrong. But I’m sure I can find little things that need to be fixed in your Heaven every now and again.” I give an internal wink and feel him turn inward again, a version of himself reappearing to sit beside me in my mental landscape._

_“It looks just like it does outside in here,” Cye remarks, staring up at the sky my mind displays. “When you’re in charge, my landscape just looks like my parents house. I sleep or look through our eyes to see what you’re doing.”_

_“Well… I could help you shape new landscapes,” I say. “But you really should be sleeping when I roam. You need your rest.”_

_“Or I’ll burn out sooner,” Cye says. “I know.” He frowns at me. “How much longer do I have? I’ve lost track of time. My father and mother are gone. My sisters and brothers are old. Their children have children.”_

_I lie back in my mental snow, feeling the wet but not the cold. “We don’t tell mortals things like that, Cye. You dwell on it. You’ll start to feel when it’s time.”_

_“But will it be a long time from now, or a short time?” he presses._

_I visualize a flute, one played at a vertical angle, and breeze through a scale, ignoring Cye’s grunt of irritation._

_“Fine,” he huffs. “I’m going back out.”_

_He gets the start of a new scale as a reply. He folds his arms over his chest, glowering for a moment, before his image flickers—but doesn’t leave; instead it changes. Gone is the Cye wearing warm furs, in his place is Cye as I’d left him in Heaven—wearing tan and white robes, and sandals, but unsmiling._

_“Gabriel.”_

_I sit up. “Cye?” This isn’t a dream or memory anymore._

_“Are you all right?” he asks._

_“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”_

_“You look awful,” Cye says. “I didn’t know I could look so worn out. If you are making yourself ill to help me, then…”_

_“Then it’s fine,” I say. “I won’t stop until I fix it for you and everyone else. I made a promise…”_

_“Yes, you did,” Cye says softly. “But Gabriel, I—we—my family—we were ultimately created to serve you. Your promises are beautiful, we love you, but you don’t actually…”_

_I glare at him. “Yes, I do.” I hear Loki’s voice saying ‘I stand for nothing.’ “My word is bond, Cye. And I’m close, so close. I think I can summon my Father. If He returns, He’ll restore Heaven.”_

_Cye looks pensive. “And what will you say to Him if He comes to you?”_

_I blink. I… “I’ll tell Him that Heaven needs help.”_

_“And then?” Cye asks._

_“And then what?”_

_He stares at me. “Gabriel, you’re heartbroken and the being who can help you will be within your reach. You have to know what you need to say to Him—on your behalf, not mine or anyone else’s.”_

_“Did you come to lecture me?”_

_“No, I…” Cye bites his lip. “You just… you didn’t seem well when I contacted you. I… wouldn’t have disturbed you if I’d known. I’m worried about you. Your grace is...”_

_“Can you sense it?” I ask, curious. Miyam could sense my current state of grace, see my aura. I thought it was just something special about her. But she and her family are the first I’ve approached in my disgrace. All previous contact with my families had been when I was at full grace. What would they have to concern themselves over? So, in turn, why mention it. “Have you always been able to sense it, when I—when I walked with your mother?”_

_“We all see your grace and aura, Gabriel,” Cye says. He tilts his head. “You didn’t know?”_

_I shake my head. “I didn’t.”_

_Cye gives me a pale smile. “Your grace is so weak.” He chews his lower lip. “What happens if it goes out?”_

_"I’m human until it grows back.”_

_“And you can be killed? You can get sick and die?”_

_“I don’t know, maybe,” I say. I don’t know that it’s impossible._

_“Gabriel, if this mission kills you, I’ll…”_

_“You’ll go back to your paradise,” I say evenly. I reach out, hugging him to me. “It’s what I want, okay. If saving you all is the end of ne, then… then…it’s fine.” And it is, though I don’t look forward to passing my expiration date in the near future… or ever. “I need to stand for something.”_

_Cye groans in my arms, pulling away and gripping my shoulders. “Did you go back to your family? Did they say something to you about…?”_

_I shake my head. “It was someone else. But they made me see the light. Do you know what I’ve done for millennia?”_

_“Hopefully enjoyed yourself,” Cye says._

_I smile at him. “Oh, I had a blast. I’ve done so many things, some I’m ashamed of for playing my role too well, and others, nothing but guilty pleasure. But while I was doing all that, people I loved very much grieved for me and suffered. There are things that I could have helped stop or made easier. Running away for a while was okay, I loved the experience, but I shouldn’t have stayed away. It wasn’t fair to let everything fall on my brothers. No, I didn’t agree, but they didn’t agree either. They did things that hurt them and I could have at least come back to comfort them.”_

_Cye’s bright eyes water. “You feel you’ve failed them?”_

_I nod, feeling tears building behind my own eyes, ready to spill, but I’m tired of crying. “So, I’m standing for something now. I’m standing for my bloodline. I’m standing for Heaven. Michael and Raphael would not have wanted Heaven to fall.”_

_Take that, Loki._

_Cye releases me and wipes his eyes. “Will I know if you die?”_

_I frown. “I’m not sure.” I don’t feel the deaths of my bloodline. I’ve was at the deathbed of Cye’s great-grandparents, grandparents, and parents—but all of them were former vessels. I visited often and knew their death dates. I made it a point to appear and assist with their transition, but Cye was the only one I’d actually escorted through his own Heavenly door. “I don’t think you will, though.”_

_“Can you visit me from your Heaven, then? I imagine you would have a special status,” Cye says. “Maybe you can join me here and…” he trails off at something on my face. “What is it? What am I saying wrong?”_

_“Nothing, friend,” I say gently. “Nothing at all. Maybe we’ll meet again in Heaven, if I…”  
           "No,” Cye says slowly. “You’re… you’re pushing me off the subject. What is it?”_

_I sigh. “Friend, I’m afraid angels don’t go to Heaven when they die. We go to another place.”_

_Cye blinks at me. “A nicer place?”_

_I smile and nod. “Only the best. I’m an archangel after all.”_

_He stares at me. “You’re not being truthful.”_

_“Prove it.” I sit up straighter, squaring my shoulders._

_He narrows his eyes, then blows a raspberry. “You’re still incorrigible.”_

_My smile broadens into a grin. “I haven’t lost my touch!”_

_“And now I see a bit of that spark I love,” Cye says. He swallows. “I didn’t want the world you came from to kill you, but now it seems trying to avoid it has just about led you to the same fate.”_

_We stare at each other for what seems like an eternity._

_“I should go,” I say. “I’m sure I need to wake up. I…” The horn. I need to play the horn. But I don’t know how to wake myself up._

_Cye looks so lost and sad as he watches me fumble. “I remember watching these lights with you, learning to live in this climate, studying the different animals and land formations.”_

_“You enjoyed the solitude most.”_

_“Solitude? I was never alone,” Cye says. “What I enjoyed was having you to myself. I could talk to you aloud and not have to be careful about someone listening in. You could work magic through my fingers and not have to worry about anyone seeing it. It was like visiting those other worlds with no people, only we were still in my world.”_

_“Do you visit this place in your Heaven?” I ask._

_Cye nods. “I’ve built a home here. I travel other places we’ve gone, but I always come back here with that figment of you. He has our memories, he can talk about past ventures, and he laughs and smiles, but… he can’t tell me about you now. I want to hear about you after we parted. The rabble you roused, the parties you attended, your experiences. My paradise can’t give me my real friend.”_

_I frown at him. “Are you unhappy in Heaven?”_

_Cye shakes his head. “I’m content, but I’d be more so if you… if you lived, and…and broke rules to come visit every now and again.”_

_I laugh. “Your contentment is important to me. I’ll do what I can.”_

_A weak chuckle and now it’s his turn to hug me to him. “I believe you will.”_

_He smells of herbs and incense, like his family home. I breathe him in, remembering and missing everything about him in a flurry of emotions. I tremble and he tightens his hold. His breath tickles my hear, “I can’t stay for much longer, and you need to wake up.”_

_Wake up._

* * *

 

Wake up.

My eyes flutter open in a semi-dark room. I hear a page turning in a book, the shifting of a body, sense the presence of familiar grace—Castiel. I sit up slowly, my arms wobbling like gelatin. My entire body feels wrung out and sore, the skin stretched too thin over bone and muscle. The room spins and strong hands grip me, keeping me upright. I gaze up into Castiel’s worried blue eyes.

“You used too much power,” he says. “Yasmin says you’re exhausted—and that you have a virus. Said if you were human, she’d take a blood sample to give you a more accurate diagnosis, but she listened to your heart and lungs while you were asleep, and used a little light on a stick to look in your ears and throat.”

I squint at him. “I slept through all of this?”

“You slept for…” he glances at the old-fashioned clock on the wall, “thirty-one hours.”

Whoa. “I…”

“You only set the curtains on fire twice. And the rug. Oh, and a few books, but you put the flames out yourself each time. The only things we couldn’t salvage were the books, but Laela claims they were bad books anyway. Trashy romances that Miriam liked to read when she was a girl.”

“Miriam—is she…?”

“She’s well,” Castiel says. “She has been working with Sam on what to do about Jefferson—the young man who was possessed. He had a family.”

I wince. “I wonder if the demon ever interacted with that family.”

Castiel has no answer for that. “Miriam is a very bright young woman. Your family here is—they are a fine example of why we do what we do. Why I sided with the Winchesters and humanity.”

I smile at him. “You’re making me blush.”

“Are you taking credit for this family’s achievements?”

“What? No,” I say. “I’m just… I’m proud. This line, it was created so I’d have bodies to snatch, Cass. I don’t know what Dad’s plans were for them. I don’t know if He meant for the lines to expand and continue on as far as they have. I mean, Michael’s and Lucifer’s lines are practically gone. Raphael’s lines… when I looked years and years ago, had dwindled. But these guys, I mean sure I pushed and nudged, but not all that often. And some of the stray lines did die out or dilute. But the ones I stayed with…”

“Gabriel,” Cass interrupts me. “It’s all right to take a little credit. I heard the spell you spoke. You cast the influence of evil from their lives. You nudged a few toward prosperous paths. Your seeds helped to make this possible. And this family here very much holds you responsible for their good fortune. They’ve been in and out of this room, hoping you’ll be awake or trying to think of things you could possibly need. Miyam wants you to live here and let her introduce you to the world as a long-lost nephew sent to her to raise.”

I chuckle at the idea, one: because it’s ridiculous, I’m older than dirt and this woman wants to raise me, two: because it seems such a Miyam thing to want (a Minu thing to want). A rush of love fills me for Miyam… and the family. If I had more power, I’d speak another spell over this house, one that makes the rest of their days golden. I sigh, wanting to trace the rest of my bloodlines, to see them, introduce myself and see how they fare. Are they as well as the Khourys? Are they happy? And I’ll help them if they’re not.

But first…

“The horn?” I ask. The question seems to startle Castiel.

“The—oh. It’s back in the vault for now. We figured it’d be best kept there until you’re okay to travel again.”

“I’m okay.” I try to get out of bed, but Cass won’t let me up.

“You’re exhausted,” Castiel says,

“You said that—”

“No.” Castiel shakes his head. “Not exhausted as in ‘just tired’. You’re clinically exhausted. It’s a medical condition. Your vessel is in danger of shutting down if we don’t take better care of you.”

I frown. “You take great care of me.”

“By letting you eat cake and Pop-Tarts for meals?” Castiel asks. “Yasmin says you need vitamin supplements. She brought plenty of large bottles home for you and she…” He gives me a troubled look. “You wouldn’t wake up and you needed medicine. She…”

I frown at him. “What?”

“She gave you a few injections.”

I flinch, flashes of Asmodeus attack me. I feel power ripple out of me before I can stop it and snuff out an angel spark before it singes the rug. “Oh?”

“She won’t anymore, not now that you’re awake,” Castiel says quickly. “She brought you chewable vitamins that are like gummy bears and a few you have to learn to swallow.”

I nod. Gummy bears are good, and… “I’ll learn to take the others.”

Castiel stares at me, then touches the back of his hand to my forehead. “You’re still very warm. Perhaps…”

“I’m not delirious,” I say. “I just need to be better, so we can get back the bunker. I have a job to do.”

“Do you want me to let the others know you’re awake now?” Castiel asks.

I run a hand through my tangled hair and glance down at my body. I’ve been stripped to my undershirt and shorts. “Ah…”

“They’ve all seen it,” Castiel says with a little smile.

“And my humiliation is complete.” I lie back down, staring at the ceiling. “Send them in.”

 

* * *

 

~*~

  
            The Khoury family stands in the driveway, watching us pull away. The kids run down the sidewalk, chasing the car, waving. I turn around in the passenger seat, watching the family shrink through the back window. Miyam and Kaveh, Laela and Joseph, David and Yasmin, Talia, Tavi, Shaia. And Miriam.

            Miriam who approached me last night and asked me to take her; a young, healthy vessel, with her soul intact to keep it vibrant—and me company. She wants to learn to hunt, to make a story—to help the world. I took her hands and read her future, letting her see what is in store for her should she choose certain paths. One leads to fame and fortune, another to a large family; one, the one her heart will choose, leads to a Nobel Peace Prize and accolades for her great humanitarian deeds. Along that path there are thorns and gievances, maybe some hunting, but also light, laughter, and joy.

 

_“You’ll get what you want, Miriam,”_ I said to her. _“You need only wait for the sign.”_

_“What sign?”_ she asked.

_“You’ll know.”_

            She waves to me now, big smile on her face. My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I pull it out, snorting at the Khoury group chat I’ve been invited to.

           

_“Call when you get there!”_

_“Eat spinach!”_

_“Dissolve the bigger vitamins into a sweet drink.”_

_“Ensure tastes like chocolate milkshakes, and is full of vitamins!”_

_“Sleep!”_

_“Text when you get there!”_

_“Friend me on Snapchat!”_

_“Don’t forget you have family here too.”_

Geez….and the texts keep coming. I chuckle and lay the phone on my knee.

            “You feeling okay?” Sam asks, as we exit the neighbor and head out onto the main road.

            I shrug. I’m still tired and achy. Yasmin said I would need 9-10 hours of sleep every night and to keep a steady vitamin regiment to fight exhaustion—and I gave her permission to shoot me up with a strong broad-spectrum antibiotic while I slept last night. She hoped it would give my immune system a kick in the ass.

            “I wished we could have stayed longer,” Jack says from the backseat. “I really liked them. Tavi and Shaia are fun!” Jack’s never really been around little kids, which is sad because he’s a baby himself. “We can come back to visit, right?”

            “They would love to have you,” I say.

            Sam merges onto a freeway, lines furrowing between his eyebrows.

            “You’re going to wrinkle there, if you’re not careful,” I say.

            Sam huffs and gives me a moody look.

            “What?”

            Sam shrugs. “You’ll just laugh at me again.”

            “What?” Now, I have to know.

            Sam pouts. “I just… The Khourys are awesome. The Winchesters could have been awesome too. Big family, guardian angel—”

            “Hey, hey, Sammy,” I break into his pity-fest, suppressing a laugh, not wanting to incur his wrath, “man, not to rain on your pity parade, but uh…you’ve got all that! The Winchesters, you and Dean—and your mom—are awesome. Your family—those people in the bunker, your hunter friends, us—is huge. And your guardian angel—who’s Cass, chopped liver?”

            Sam changes lanes, lines in his forehead deepening as he processes what I said.

            “It may not be traditional,” I say, “but it’s what you have, and there are people who’d be envious of you: the guys who cheat death, and earned the respect of angels.”

            Sam nods after a minute. “Huh. Never thought of it that way.”

            “I know you didn’t,” I say, smirking at my vibrating phone. More texts. Probably the family hitting ‘reply all’ to everything. “All you need now is for an archangel to bless your line.” I lean back in the passenger seat, closing my eyes for a second. “I’ll do what I can.”

            My phone continues to buzz, the rhythm of it and the car lulling me to sleep, but not before I hear Sam say, “I believe you will.”

            A brief memory of Cye’s knowing smile shimmers behind my eyes, before I conk out for the first leg of the ride.

 

 

* * *

Author's Note: Stay tuned for the last story in this series: Until You Believe. Thank you for reading!

 


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